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STORIES 

FROM 

The  Italian  Poets 

(SECOND  SERIES) 

BERNARDO    TASSO 

AND 

LUDOVICO   GIOVANNI  ARIOSTO 

WITH  CRITICAL   NOTICES  OF  THE  LIVES  AND 
GENIUS  OF   THE  AUTHORS 

BY 
LEIGH  HUNT 


NEW   YORK  AND    LONDON 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 
Ube  ftnicfterbocfcer  press 


Press  of 
P.  PUTNAM'S  Sons 
New  York 


V.  «- 


CONTENTS 

TASSO 
Critical  Notice  of  his  I^ife  and  Genius      .       .       i 

ARIOSTO 
Critical  Notice  of  his  I,ife  and  Genius      .       .      89 

PUI/CI 

Critical  Notice  of  his  I^ife  and  Genius      .       .    153 
Humors  of  Giants        .       .       .       .       .       .       .185 

Notice       .       , 215 

The  Battle  of  Roncesvalles 217 


Vol.  II. 


iii 


I  I  79258 


TASSO  : 
Critical  Notice  of  his  Life  and  Genius. 


CRITICAL    NOTICE    OF     TASSO'S    LIFE 
AND    GENIUS.* 

THE  romantic  poetry  of  Italy  having  risen  to 
its  highest  and  apparently  its  most  law- 
less pitch  in  the  "  Orlando  Furioso,"  a  reaction 
took  place  in  the  next  age  in  the  "Jerusalem 
Delivered. ' '  It  did  not  hurt,  however,  the  popu- 
larity of  Ariosto.  It  only  increased  the  number 
of  poetic  readers  ;  and  under  the  auspices,  or 
rather  the  control,  of  a  Luther-fearing  church, 


*My  authorities  for  this  notice  are,  Black's  "  I,ife  of 
Tasso"  (2vols.  4to,  1810),  his  original,  Serassi,  "Vitadi 
Torquato  Tasso  "  (do.  1790),  and  the  works  of  the  poet  in 
the  Pisan  edition  of  Professor  Rosini  (33  vols.  8vo,  1832). 
I  have  been  indebted  to  nothing  in  Black  which  I  have 
not  ascertained  by  reference  to  the  Italian  biographer, 
and  quoted  nothing  stated  by  Tasso  himself  but  from  the 
works.  Black's  Life,  which  is  a  free  rersion  of  Serassi's, 
modified  by  the  translator's  own  opinions  and  criticism, 
is  elegant,  industrious,  and  interesting.  Serassi's  was 
the  first  copious  biography  of  the  poet  founded  on  origfi- 
nal  documents  ;  and  it  deserved  to  be  translated  by  Mr. 
Black,  though  servile  to  the  house  of  Este,  and,  as  might 
be  expected,  far  from  being  always  ingenious.  Among 
other  instances  of  this  writer's  want  of  candor  is  the 
fact  of  his  having  been  the  discoverer  and  suppresser  of 
the  manuscript  review  of  Tasso  by  Galileo.    The  best 


^orquato  XLaeeo 


produced,  if  not  as  classical  a  work  as  it  claimed 
to  be,  or  one,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  as 
catholic  as  its  predecessor,  yet  certainly  a  far 
more  Roman  Catholic  and  at  the  same  time 
very  delightful  fiction.  The  circle  of  fabulous 
narrative  was  thus  completed,  and  a  link  formed, 
though  in  a  very  gentle  and  qualified  manner, 
both  with  Dante's  theocracy  and  the  obvious 
regularity  of  the  "^neid,"  the  oldest  romance 
of  Italy. 

The  author  of  this  epic  of  the  Crusades  was  of 
a  family  so  noble  and  so  widely  diffused,  that, 
under  the  patronage  of  the  emperors  and  the 
Italian  princes,  it  flourished  in  a  very  remark- 
able manner,  not  only  in  its  own  country,  but 
in  Flanders,  Germany,  and  Spain.  There  was  a 
Tasso  once  in  England,  ambassador  of  Philip 
the  Second ;   another,    like   Cervantes,    distin- 


summary  account  of  the  poet's  life  and  writings  which  I 
have  met  with  is  Gingn^ne's,  in  the  fifth  volume  of  his 
"  Histoire  Ivitt^raire,"  etc.  It  is  written  with  his  usual 
grace,  vivacity,  and  acuteness,  and  contains  a  good  no- 
tice of  the  Tasso  controversy.  As  to  the  Pisan  edition  of 
the  works,  it  is  the  completest,  I  believe,  in  point  of  con- 
tents, ever  published,  comprises  all  the  controversial 
criticism,  and  is,  of  course,  very  useful ;  but  it  contains 
no  life  except  Manso's  (now  known  to  be  very  inconclu- 
sive), has  got  a  heap  of  feeble  variorum  comments  on 
the  "Jerusalem,"  no  notes  worth  speaking  of  to  the  rest 
of  the  works,  and,  notwithstanding  the  claim  in  the  title- 
page  to  the  merit  of  a  "better  order,"  has  left  the  cor- 
respondence in  a  deplorable  state  of  irregularity,  as  well 
as  totally  without  elucidation.  The  learned  Professor  is 
an  agreeable  writer,  and  I  believe  a  very  pleasant  man, 
but  he  certainly  is  a  provoking  editor. 


Q:orauato  G^asso 


guished  himself  at  the  battle  of  Lepanto  ;  and 
a  third  gave  rise  to  the  sovereign  German  house 
of  Tour  and  Taxis.  Taxus  is  the  Latin  of  Tasso. 
The  Latin  word,  like  the  Italian,  means  both  a 
badger  and  a  yew-tree  ;  and  the  family  in  gen- 
eral appear  to  have  taken  it  in  the  former  sense. 
The  animal  is  in  their  coat-of-arms.  But  the 
poet,  or  his  immediate  relatives,  preferred  be- 
ing more  romantically  shadowed  forth  by  the 
yew-tree.  The  parent  stock  of  the  race  was  at 
Bergamo  in  Lombardy  ;  and  here  was  born  the 
father  of  Tasso,  himself  a  poet  of  celebrity, 
though  his  fame  has  been  eclipsed  by  that  of 
his  son. 

Bernardo  Tasso,  author  of  many  elegant 
lyrics,  of  some  volumes  of  letters,  not  uninter- 
esting but  too  florid,  and  of  the  "Amadigi," 
an  epic  romance  now  little  read,  was  a  man  of 
small  property,  very  honest  and  good-hearted, 
but  restless,  ambitious,  and  with  a  turn  for  ex- 
pense beyond  his  means.  He  attached  himself 
to  various  princes,  with  little  ultimate  advan- 
tage, particularly  to  the  unfortunate  Sansev- 
erino.  Prince  of  Salerno,  whom  he  faithfully 
served  for  many  years.  The  prince  had  a  high 
sense  of  his  worth,  and  would  probably  have 
settled  him  in  the  wealth  and  honors  he 
was  qualified  to  adorn,  but  for  those  Spanish 
oppressions  in   the  history  of   Naples  which 


c:orquato  ^asso 


ended  in  the  ruin  of  both  master  and  servant. 
Bernardo,  however,  had  one  happy  interval 
of  prosperity ;  and  during  this,  at  the  age  of 
forty-six,  he  married  Porzia  di  Rossi,  a  young 
lady  of  a  rich  and  noble  family,  with  a  claim  to 
a  handsome  dowry.  He  spent  some  delightful 
years  with  her  at  Sorrento,  a  spot  so  charming 
as  to  have  been  considered  the  habitation  of  the 
Sirens ;  and  here,  in  the  midst  of  his  orange- 
trees,  his  verses,  and  the  breezes  of  an  aromatic 
coast,  he  had  three  children,  the  eldest  of  whom 
was  a  daughter  named  Cornelia,  and  the  young- 
est the  author  of  the  "Jerusalem  Delivered," 
The  other  child  died  young.  The  house  dis- 
tinguished by  the  poet's  birth  was  restored  from 
a  dilapidated  condition  by  order  of  Joseph  Bona- 
parte when  King  of  Naples,  and  is  now  a  hotel. 
Torquato  Tasso  was  born  March  ii,  1544, 
nine  years  after  the  death  of  Ariosto,  who  was 
intimate  with  his  father.  He  was  very  devoutly 
brought  up,  and  grew  so  tall  and  became  so 
premature  a  scholar,  that  at  nine,  he  tells 
us,  he  might  have  been  taken  for  a  boy 
of  twelve.  At  eleven,  in  consequence  of  the 
misfortunes  of  his  father,  who  had  been  exiled 
with  the  Prince  of  Salerno,  he  was  forced  to 
part  from  his  mother,  who  remained  at  home 
to  look  after  a  dowry  which  she  never  received. 
Her  brothers  deprived  her  of  it ;  and  in   two 


trorquato  tTagso 


years'  time  slie  died — Bernardo  thought  by 
poison.  Twenty -four  years  afterwards  her  illus- 
trious son,  in  the  midst  of  his  own  misfortunes, 
remembered  with  sighs  the  tears  with  which  the 
kisses  of  his  poor  mother  were  bathed  when 
she  was  forced  to  let  him  go.* 

The  little  Torquato  following,  as  he  says,  like 
another  Ascanius,  the  footsteps  of  his  wander- 
ing father,  joined  Bernardo  in  Rome.  After 
two  years'  study  in  that  city,  partly  under  an 
old  priest  who  lived  with  them,  the  vicissitudes 
of  the  father's  lot  took  away  the  son  first  to 
Bergamo,    among    his  relations,    and  then  to 

*In  the  beautiful  fragftnent  beginning,  "  O  del  grand' 
Apennino"  : 

"  Me  dal  sen  della  madre  empia  fortuna 
Pargoletto  divelse.    Ah  !  di  que'  baci, 
Ch'  ella  bagnd  di  lagrime  dolenti, 
Con  sospir  mi  rimembra,  e  degli  ardenti 
Preghi,  che  sen  portdr  1'  aure  fugaci, 
Ch'  io  giunger  non  dovea  pii  volto  a  volto 
Fra  quelle  braccia  accalto 
Con  nodi  cosi  stretti  e  si  tenaci. 
I,asso  !  e  seguii  con  mal  sicure  piante, 
Qual  Ascanio,  o  Camilla,  il  padre  errante." 
Me  from  my  mother's  bosom  my  hard  lot 
Took  when  a  child.    Alas  !  though  all  these  years 
I  have  been  used  to  sorrow, 
I  si^h  to  think  upon  the  floods  of  tears 
Which  bathed  her  kisses  on  that  doleful  morrow  : 
I  sigh  to  think  of  all  the  prayers  and  cries 
She  wasted,  straining  me  with  lifted  eyes  : 
For  never  more  on  one  another's  face 
Was  it  our  lot  to  gaze  and  to  embrace  ! 
Her  little  stumbling  boy, 
Like  to  the  child  of  Troy, 
Or  like  to  one  doomed  to  no  haven  rather. 
Followed  the  footsteps  of  his  wandering  father. 


^orauato  Zaeeo 


Pesaro,  in  the  duchy  of  Urbino,  where  his  edu- 
cation was  associated  for  nearly  two  years  with 
that  of  the  young  prince,  afterwards  Duke  Fran- 
cesco Maria  the  Second  (della  Rovere),  who  re- 
tained a  regard  for  him  through  life.  In  1559 
the  boy  joined  his  father  in  Venice,  where  the 
latter  had  been  appointed  secretary  to  the 
Academy ;  but  next  year  he  was  withdrawn 
from  these  pleasing  varieties  of  scene  by  the 
parental  delusion  so  common  in  the  history  of 
men  of  letters — the  study  of  the  law ;  which 
Bernardo  intended  him  to  pursue  henceforth  in 
the  city  of  Padua.  He  accordingly  arrived  in 
Padua  at  the  age  of  sixteen  and  a  half,  and  ful- 
filled his  legal  destiny  by  writing  the  poem  of 
"Rinaldo,"  which  was  published  in  the  course 
of  less  than  two  years  at  Venice.  The  good- 
natured  and  poetic  father,  convinced  by  this 
specimen  of  jurisprudence  how  useless  it  was  to 
thwart  the  hereditary  passion,  permitted  him 
to  devote  himself  wholly  to  literature,  which  he 
therefore  went  to  study  in  the  university  of 
Bologna ;  and  there,  at  the  early  age  of  nine- 
teen, he  began  his  "Jerusalem  Delivered"; 
that  is  to  say,  he  planned  it,  and  wrote  three 
cantos,  several  of  the  stanzas  of  which  he  re- 
tained when  the  poem  was  matured.  He  quitted 
Bologna,  however,  in  a  fit  of  indignation  at  be- 
ing accused  of  the  authorship  of  a  satire  ;  and 


tTorquato  Xlaeeo 


after  visiting  some  friends  at  Castelvetro  and 
Correggio,  returned  to  Padua  on  the  invitation 
of  his  friend  Scipio  Gonzaga,  afterwards  cardi- 
nal, who  wished  him  to  become  a  member  of 
an  academy  he  had  instituted,  called  the  Etei-ei 
(Ethereals).  Here  he  studied  his  favorite  phi- 
losopher, Plato,  and  composed  three  Discourses 
on  Heroic  Poetry,  dedicated  to  his  friend.  He 
now  paid  a  visit  to  his  father  in  Mantua,  w^here 
the  unsettled  man  had  become  secretary  to  the 
duke  ;  and  here,  it  is  said,  he  fell  in  love  with 
a  young  lady  of  a  distinguished  family,  whose 
name  was  Laura  Peperara ;  but  this  did  not 
hinder  him  from  returning  to  his  Paduan  stud- 
ies, in  which  he  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  the 
following  year.  He  was  then  informed  that  the 
Cardinal  of  Este,  to  whom  he  had  dedicated  his 
"Rinaldo,"  and  with  whom  interest  had  been 
made  for  the  purpose,  had  appointed  him  one 
of  his  attendants,  and  that  he  was  expected  at 
Ferrara  by  the  ist  of  December.  Returning  to 
Mantua,  in  order  to  prepare  for  this  appoint- 
ment with  his  father,  he  was  seized  with  a  dan- 
gerous illness,  which  detained  him  there  nearly 
a  twelvemonth  longer.  On  his  recovery  he 
hastened  to  Ferrara,  and  arrived  in  that  city  on 
the  last  day  of  October,  1565,  the  first  of  many 
years  of  glory  and  misery. 
The  Cardinal  of  Este  was  the  brother  of  the 


tTorquato  Z^eeo 


reigning  Duke  of  Ferrara,  Alfonso  the  Second, 
grandson  of  the  Alfonso  of  Ariosto.  It  is  curi- 
ous to  see  the  two  most  celebrated  romantic 
poets  of  Italy  thrown  into  unfortunate  connec- 
tion with  two  princes  of  the  same  house  and 
the  same  respective  ranks.  Tasso's  cardinal, 
however,  though  the  poet  lost  his  favor,  and 
though  very  little  is  known  about  him,  left  no 
such  bad  reputation  behind  him  as  Ippolito.  It 
was  in  the  service  of  the  duke  that  the  poet  ex- 
perienced his  sufferings. 

This  prince,  who  was  haughty,  ostentatious, 
and  quarrelsome,  was,  at  the  time  of  the  stran- 
ger's arrival,  rehearsing  the  shows  and  tourna- 
ments intended  to  welcome  his  bride,  the  sister 
of  the  Bmperor  Maximilian  the  Second.  She 
was  his  second  wife.  The  first  was  a  daughter 
of  the  rival  house  of  Tuscany,  which  he  detested ; 
and  the  marriage  had  not  been  happy.  The 
new  consort  arrived  in  the  course  of  a  few 
weeks,  entering  the  city  in  great  pomp ;  and 
for  a  time  all  went  happily  with  the  young 
poet.  He  was  in  a  state  of  ecstacy  with  the 
beauty  and  grandeur  he  beheld  around  him — 
obtained  the  favorable  notice  of  the  duke's  two 
sisters  and  the  duke  himself — went  on  with 
his  "Jerusalem  Delivered,"  which,  in  spite  of 
the  presence  of  Ariosto's  memory,  he  was  re- 
solved to  load  with  praises  of  the  house  of  Kste ; 


^orauato  G^asBO.  ii 

and  in  this  tumult  of  pride  and  expectation,  he 
beheld  the  duke,  like  one  of  the  heroes  of  his 
poem,  set  out  to  assist  the  emperor  against  the 
Turks  at  the  head  of  three  hundred  gentlemen, 
armed  at  all  points,  and  mantled  in  various 
colored  velvets  embroidered  with  gold. 

To  complete  the  young  poet's  happiness,  or 
commence  his  disappointments,  he  fell  in  love, 
notwithstanding  the  goddess  he  had  left  in 
Mantua,  with  the  beautiful  Lucrezia  Bendidio, 
who  does  not  seem,  however,  to  have  loved  in 
return  ;  for  she  became  the  wife  of  a  Macchia- 
velli.  Among  his  rivals  was  Guarini,  who  after- 
wards emulated  him  in  pastoral  poetry,  and  who 
accused  him  on  this  occasion  of  courting  two 
ladies  at  once. 

Guarini's  accusation  has  been  supposed  to 
refer  to  the  duke's  sister  Leonora,  whose  name 
has  become  so  romantically  mixed  up  with  the 
poet's  biography  ;  but  the  latest  inquiries  render 
it  probable  that  the  allusion  was  to  Laura  Pep- 
erara.^  The  young  poet,  however,  who  had  not 
escaped  the  influence  of  the  free  manners  of 
Italy,  and  whose  senses  and  vanity  may  hitherto 
have  been  more  interested  than  his  heart, 
rhymed  and  flattered  on  all  sides  of  him,  not  of 
course  omitting  the  charms  of  princesses.     In 

♦Rosini,  "  Saggiosugli  AmoridiTorquatoTasso,"  etc., 
in  the  Professor's  edition  of  his  works,  vol.  xxxiii. 


12  tlorauato  tTasso 

order  to  win  the  admiration  of  the  ladies  in  a 
body,  he  sustained  for  three  days,  in  public, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  times,  "  Fifty  Amorous 
Conclusions";  that  is  to  say,  affirmations  on 
the  subject  of  love  ;  doubtless  to  the  equal  de- 
light of  his  fair  auditors  and  himself,  and  the 
creation  of  a  good  deal  of  jealousy  and  ill-will 
on  the  part  of  such  persons  of  his  own  sex  as 
had  not  wit  or  spirits  enough  for  the  display  of 
so  much  logic  and  love-making. 

In  1569,  the  death  of  his  father,  who  had  b^en 
made  governor  of  Ostiglia  by  the  Duke  of  Man- 
tua, cost  the  loving  son  a  fit  of  illness  ;  but  the 
continuation  of  his  ''Jerusalem,"  an  "  Oration  " 
spoken  at  the  opening  of  the  Ferrarese  academy, 
the  marriage  of  Leonora's  sister  Lucrezia  with 
the  Prince  of  Urbino,  and  the  society  of  Leo- 
nora herself,  who  led  the  retired  life  of  a  person 
in  delicate  health,  and  was  fond  of  the  company 
of  men  of  letters,  helped  to  divert  him  from 
melancholy  recollections  ;  and  a  journey  to 
France,  at  the  close  of  the  year  following,  took 
him  into  scenes  that  were  not  only  totally  new, 
but  otherwise  highly  interesting  to  the  singer 
of  Godfrey  of  Boulogne.  The  occasion  of  it 
was  a  visit  of  the  cardinal,  his  master,  to  the 
court  of  his  relative  Charles  the  Ninth.  It  is 
supposed  that  his  eminence  went  to  confer  with 
the  king  on  matters  relative  to  the  disputes 


trorquato  tlaaso  13 

which  not  long  afterwards  occasioned  the  de- 
testable massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew. 

Before  his  departure,  Tasso  put  into  the  hands 
of  one  of  his  friends  a  document,  which,  as  it  is 
very  curious,  and  serves  to  illustrate  perhaps 
more  than  one  cause  of  his  misfortunes,  is  here 
given  entire. 

MEMORIAI,  I,EFT  BY  TASSO  ON  HIS  DEPARTURE 
TO  FRANCE. 

"Since  life  is  frail,  and  it  may  please  Al- 
mighty God  to  dispose  of  me  otherwise  in  this 
my  journey  to  France,  it  is  requested  of  Signor 
Ercole  Rondinelli  that  he  will,  in  that  case,  un- 
dertake the  management  of  the  following  con- 
cerns : 

**  In  the  first  place,  with  regard  to  my  com- 
positions, it  is  my  wish  that  all  my  love-sonnets 
and  madrigals  should  be  collected  and  pub- 
lished ;  but  with  regard  to  those,  whether  ama- 
tory or  otherwise,  which  I  have  written  for  any 
friend^  my  request  is,  that  they  should  be  buried 
with  myself,  save  only  the  one  commencing 
'  Or  che  V  aura  mia  dolce  altrove  spira.^  I  wish 
the  publication  of  the  '  Oration  '  spoken  in  Fer- 
rara  at  the  opening  of  the  academy,  of  the  four 
books  on  '  Heroic  Poetry, '  of  the  six  last  cantos 
of  the  *  Godfrey  '  (the  'Jerusalem '),  andofthose 
stanzas  of  the  two  first  which  shall  seem  least 


^arquato  tTasso 


imperfect.  All  these  compositions,  however, 
are  to  be  submitted  to  the  rcN^ew  and  consid- 
eration of  Signor  Scipio  Gonzaga,  of  Signor 
Domenico  Veniero,  and  of  Signor  Battista 
Guarini,  who,  I  persuade  myself,  will  not  re- 
fuse this  trouble,  when  they  consider  the  zeal- 
ous friendship  I  have  entertained  for  themselves. 

"  Let  them  be  informed,  too,  that  it  was  my 
intention  that  they  should  cut  and  hew  without 
mercy  whatever  should  appear  to  them  defect- 
ive or  superfluous.  With  regard  to  additions 
or  changes,  I  should  wish  them  to  proceed  more 
cautiously,  since,  after  all,  the  poem  would  re- 
main imperfect.  As  to  my  other  compositions, 
should  there  be  any  which,  to  the  aforesaid 
Signor  Rondinelli  and  the  other  gentlemen, 
might  seem  not  unworthy  of  publication,  let 
them  be  disposed  of  according  to  their  pleasure. 

"  In  respect  to  my  property,  I  wish  that  such 

part  of  it  as  I  have  pledged  to  A  brain for 

twenty-five  lire,  and  sevenpiecesof  arras,  which 
are  likewise  in  pledge  to  Signor  Ascanio  for 
thirteen  scudi,  together  with  whatever  I  have 
in  this  house,  should  be  sold,  and  that  the  over- 
plus of  the  proceeds  should  go  to  defray  the  ex- 
pense of  the  following  epitaph  to  be  inscribed 
on  a  monument  to  my  father,  whose  body  is  in 
St.  Polo.  And  should  any  impediment  take 
place  in  these  matters,  I  entreat  Signor  Ercole 


tlorquato  Zsiseo  15 

(o  have  recourse  to  the  favor  of  the  most  ex- 
cellent Madame  Leonora^  whose  liberality  I 
confide  in,  for  my  sake. 

**  I,  Torquato  Tasso,  have  written  this,  Fer- 
rara,  1570." 

I  shall  have  occasion  to  recur  to  this  document 
by  and  by.  I  will  merely  observe,  for  the  pres- 
ent, that  the  marks  in  it,  both  of  imprudence 
in  money-matters  and  confidence  in  the  good- 
will of  a  princess,  are  very  striking.  "  Abram  " 
and  "Signor  Ascanio  "  were  both  Jews.  The 
pieces  of  arras  belonged  to  his  father ;  and 
probably  this  was  an  additional  reason  why  the 
affectionate  son  wished  the  proceeds  to  defray 
the  expense  of  the  epitaph.  The  epitaph  re- 
corded his  father's  poetry,  state-services,  and 
vicissitudes  of  fortune, 

Tasso  was  introduced  to  the  French  king  as 
the  poet  of  a  French  hero  and  of  a  Catholic 
victory ;  and  his  reception  was  so  favorable 
(particularly  as  the  wretched  Charles,  the  vic- 
tim of  his  mother's  bigotry,  had  himself  no 
mean  poetic  feeling),  that,  with  a  rash  mixture 
of  simplicity  and  self-reliance  (respect  makes 
me  unwilling  to  call  it  self-importance),  the 
poet  expressed  an  impolitic  amount  of  aston- 
ishment at  the  favor  shown  at  court  to  the 
Hugonots — little  suspecting  the  horrible    de- 


i6  G^orquato  tlas60 

sign  it  covered.  He  shortly  afterwards  broke 
with  his  master  the  cardinal ;  and  it  is  supposed 
that  this  unseasonable  escape  of  zeal  was  the 
cause.    He  himself  appears  to  have  thought  so.* 

Perhaps  the  cardinal  only  wanted  to  get  the 
imprudent  poet  back  to  Italy ;  for,  on  Tasso's 
return  to  Ferrara,  he  was  not  only  received  into 
the  service  of  the  duke  with  a  salary  of  some 
fifteen  golden  scudi  a  month,  but  told  that  he 
was  exempted  from  any  particular  duty,  and 
might  attend  in  peace  to  his  studies.  Balzac  af* 
firms,  that  while  Tasso  was  at  the  court  of 
France,  he  was  so  poor  as  to  beg  a  crown  from 
a  friend  ;  and  that,  when  he  left  it,  he  had  the 
same  coat  on  his  back  that  he  came  in.f  The 
assertions  of  a  professed  wit  and  hyperbolist  are 
not  to  be  taken  for  granted ;  yet  it  is  difficult  to 
say  to  what  shifts  improvidence  may  not  be  re- 
duced. 

The  singer  of  the  house  of  Este  would  now, 
it  might  have  been  supposed,  be  happy.  He 
had  leisure  ;  he  had  money  ;  he  had  the  worldly 
honors  that  he  was  fond  of ;  he  occupied  him- 
self in  perfecting  the  "Jerusalem";  and  he 
wrote  his  beautiful  pastoral,  the  "Aminta," 
which  was  performed  before  the  duke  and  his 

*  "lyCttere  Inedite,"  p.  33,  in  the  "  Opere,"  vol.  xvii, 
t  "Entretiens,"  1663,  p.   169,  quoted  by  Serassi,  pp. 
175,  182. 


Q:orauato  Zaeeo  17 

court  to  the  delight  of  the  brilliant  assembly. 
The  duke's  sister  Lucrezia,  Princess  of  Urbino, 
who  was  a  special  friend  of  the  poet,  sent  for 
him  to  read  it  to  her  at  Pesaro  ;  and  in  course 
of  the  ensuing  carnival  it  was  performed  with 
similar  applause  at  the  court  of  her  father-in- 
law.  The  poet  had  been  as  much  enchanted  by 
the  spectacle  which  the  audience  at  Ferrara 
presented  to  his  eyes,  as  the  audience  with  the 
loves  and  graces  with  which  he  enriched  their 
stage.  The  shepherd  Thyrsis,  by  whom  he 
meant  himself,  reflected  it  back  upon  them  in 
a  passage  of  the  performance.  It  is  worth  while 
dwelling  on  this  passage  a  little,  because  it 
exhibits  a  brief  interval  of  happiness  in  the 
author's  life,  and  also  shows  us  what  he  had 
already  begun  to  think  of  courts  at  the  moment 
he  was  praising  them.  But  he  ingeniously  con- 
trives to  put  the  praise  in  his  own  mouth,  and 
the  blame  in  another's.  The  shepherd's  friend, 
Mopsus  (by  whom  Tasso  is  thought  to  have 
meant  Speroni),  had  warned  him  against  going 
to  court : 

"  Per6,  figlio, 
Va  su  r  awiso,"  etc. 

"  Therefore,  my  son,  take  my  advice.    Avoid 
The  places  where  thou  seest  much  drapery, 
Colors,  and  gold,  and  plumes,  and  heraldries, 
And  such  new-fanglements.    But,  above  all, 
Take  care  how  evil  chance  or  youthful  wandering 


i8  Q:orquato  C^asso 

Bring  thee  upon  the  house  of  Idle  Babble." 

"  What  place  is  that  ?  "  said  I ;  and  he  resumed  : — 

"  E)nchan tresses  dwell  there,  who  make  one  see 

Things  as  they  are  not,  ay  and  hear  them  too. 

That  which  shall  seem  pure  diamond  and  fine  gold 

Is  glass  and  brass  ;  and  cofifers  that  look  silver, 

Heavy  with  wealth,  are  baskets  full  of  bladders.* 

The  very  walls  there  are  so  strangely  made, 

They  answer  those  who  talk  ;  and  not  in  syllables, 

Or  bits  of  words,  like  echo  in  our  woods. 

But  go  the  whole  talk  over,  word  for  word. 

With  something  else  besides,  that  no  one  said.f 

The  tressels,  tables,  bedsteads,  curtains,  lockers, 

Chairs,  and  whatever  furniture  there  is 

In  room  or  bedroom,  all  have  tongues  and  speech, 

And  are  for  ever  tattling.    Idle  Babble 

Is  always  going  about,  playing  the  child  ; 

And  should  a  dumb  man  enter  in  that  place. 

The  dumb  would  babble  in  his  own  despite. 

And  yet  this  evil  is  the  least  of  all 

That  might  assail  thee.  Thou  might'st  be  arrested 

In  fearful  transformation  to  a  willow, 

A  beast,  fire,  water,— fire  for  ever  sighing. 

Water  for  ever  weeping."— Here  he  ceased  : 

And  I,  with  all  this  fine  foreknowledge,  went 

To  the  great  city  ;  and,  by  Heaven's  kind  will, 

Came  where  they  live  so  happily.  The  first  sound 

I  heard  was  a  delightful  harmony. 

Which  issued  forth,  of  voices  loud  and  sweet  ;— 

Sirens,  and  swans,  and  nymphs,  a  heavenly  noise 

Of  heavenly  things  ;— which  gave  me  such  delight, 

That,  all  admiring,  and  amazed,  and  joyed, 

*  Suggested  by  Ariosto's  furniture  in  the  Moon. 

t  This  was  a  trick  which  he  afterwards  thought  he  had 
reason  to  complain  of  in  a  style  very  diflferent  from 
pleasantry. 


C^orquato  Z^eeo  19 

I  stopped  awhile  quite  motionless.    There  stood 

Within  the  entrance,  as  if  keeping  guard 

Of  those  fine  things,  one  of  a  high-souled  aspect. 

Stalwart  withal,  of  whom  I  was  in  doubt 

Whether  to  think  him  better  knight  or  leader.* 

He,  with  a  look  at  once  benign  and  gfrave, 

In  royal  guise,  invited  me  within  ; 

He,  great  and  in  esteem  ;  me,  lorn  and  lowly. 

Oh,  the  sensations  and  the  sights  which  then 

Shower'd  on  me.    Goddesses  I  saw,  and  nymphs 

Gracefu.  and  beautiful,  and  harpers  fine 

As  Linus  or  as  Orpheus ;  and  more  deities, 

All  witlout  veil  or  cloud,  bright  as  the  virgin 

Aurora,  when  she  glads  immortal  eyes. 

And  sows  her  beams  and  dew  drops,  silver  and  gold. 

In  the  summer  of  1574,  the  Duke  of  Ferrara 
went  lo  Venice  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  suc- 
cessor of  Charles  the  Ninth,  Henry  the  Third, 
then  on  his  way  to  France  from  his  kingdom 
of  Poland.  Tasso  went  with  the  Duke,  and  is 
understood  to  have  taken  the  opportunity  of 
looking  for  a  printer  of  his  "Jerusalem,"  which 
was  now  almost  finished.  Writers  were  anxious 
to  publish  in  that  crafty  city,  because  its  gov- 
ernment would  give  no  security  of  profit  to 
books  printed  elsewhere.  Alfonso,  who  was  in 
mourning  for  Henry's  brother,  and  to  whom 

X  Alfonso.  The  word  for  "  leader  "  in  the  original,  dure, 
made  the  allusion  more  obvious.  The  epithet  "royal," 
in  the  next  sentence,  conveyed  a  welcome  intimation  to 
the  ducal  ear,  the  house  of  Este  being  very  proud  of  its 
connection  with  the  sovereigns  of  Europe,  and  very  de- 
sirous of  becoming  royal  itself. 


20  tTorauato  G:a0so 

mourning  itself  only  suggested  a  new  occasion 
of  pomp  and  vanity,  took  with  him  to  this 
interview  five  hundred  Ferrarese  gentlemen,  all 
dressed  in  long  black  cloaks  ;  wto  walked 
about  Venice  (says  a  reporter)  "by  twos  and 
threes,"  wonderfully  impressed  the  inhabi- 
tants with  their  *  *  gravity  and  magnificence. ' '  * 
The  mourners  feasted,  however ;  and  Tasso 
had  a  quartan  fever,  which  delayed  the  com- 
pletion of  the  "Jerusalem,"  till  next  jear.  This 
was  at  length  effected  ;  and  now  once  more,  it  v 
might  have  been  thought,  the  writer  would 
have  reposed  on  his  laurels. 

But  Tasso  had  already  begun  to  experience 
the  uneasiness  attending  superiority  ;  and,  un- 
fortunately, the  strength  of  his  mind  was  not 
equal  to  that  of  his  genius.  He  was  of  an  ultra- 
sensitive temperament,  and  subject  to  depress- 
ing fits  of  sickness.  He  could  not  calmly  bear 
envy.  Sarcasm  exasperated,  and  hostile  criti- 
cism afflicted  him.  The  seeds  of  a  suspicious 
temper  were  nourished  by  prosperity  itself.  The 
author  of  the  "  Aminta  "  and  the  "Jerusalem  " 
began  to  think  the  attentions  he  received  un- 
equal to  his  merits;  while  with  a  sort  of  hysterical 
mixture  of  demand  for  applause,  and  provoca- 
tion of  censure,  he  not  only  condescended  to 
read  his  poems  in  manuscript  wherever  he 
*  Serassi,  vol.  i.,  p.  210. 


^orquato  ^^eeo  21 

went,  but,  in  order  to  secure  the  good-will  of 
the  papal  licenser,  he  transmitted  it  for  revisal 
to  Rome,  where  it  was  mercilessly  criticized  for 
the  space  of  two  years  by  the  bigots  and  hypo- 
crites of  a  court,  which  Luther  had  rendered  a 
very  different  one  from  that  in  the  time  of 
Ariosto. 

This  new  source  of  chagrin  exasperated  the 
complexional  restlessness  which  now  made  our 
author  think  that  he  should  be  more  easy  any- 
where than  in  Ferrara ;  perhaps  more  able  to  com- 
municate with  and  convince  his  critics  ;  and, 
unfortunately,  he  permitted  himself  to  descend 
to  a  weakness  the  most  fatal  of  all  others  to  a 
mind  naturally  exalted  and  ingenuous.  Per- 
haps it  was  one  of  the  main  causes  of  all  which 
he  suffered.  Indeed,  he  himself,  attributed  his 
misfortunes  to  irresolution.  What  I  mean  in 
the  present  instance  was,  that  he  did  not  dis- 
dain to  adopt  underhand  measures.  He  showed 
a  face  of  satisfaction  with  Alfonso,  at  the  mo- 
ment that  he  was  taking  steps  to  exchange  his 
court  for  another.  He  wrote  for  that  purpose 
to  his  friend  Scipio  Gonzaga,  now  a  prelate  at 
the  court  of  Rome,  earnestly  begging  him,  at 
the  same  time,  not  to  commit  him  in  their  cor- 
respondence ;  and  Scipio,  who  was  one  of  his 
kindest  and  most  indulgent  friends,  and  who 
doubtless  saw  that  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  and  his 


22  uorquato  Zasso 

poet  were  not  of  dispositions  likely  to  accord, 
did  all  he  could  to  procure  him  an  appointment 
with  one  of  the  family  of  the  Medici. 

Most  unhappily  for  this  speculation  (and 
perhaps  even  the  good-natured  Gonzaga  took  a 
little  more  pleasure  in  it  on  that  account), 
Alfonso  inherited  all  the  detestation  of  his 
house  for  that  lucky  race  ;  and  it  is  remarkable, 
that  the  same  jealousies  which  hindered  Arios- 
to's  advancement  with  the  Medici  were  still 
more  fatal  to  the  hopes  of  Tasso ;  for  they 
served  to  plunge  him  into  the  deepest  adversity. 
In  vain  he  had  warnings  given  him,  both 
friendly  and  hostile.  The  princess,  now  Duch- 
ess of  Urbino,  who  was  his  particular  friend, 
strongly  cautioned  him  against  the  temptation 
of  going  away.  She  said  he  was  watched.  He 
himself  thought  his  letters  were  opened  ;  and 
probably  they  were.  They  certainly  were  at  a 
subsequent  period.  Tasso,  however,  persisted, 
and  went  to  Rome.  Scipio  Gonzaga  introduced 
him  to  Cardinal  Ferdinand  de'  Medici,  after- 
wards Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany  ;  and  Ferdinand 
made  him  offers  of  protection  so  handsome,  that 
they  excited  his  suspicion.  The  self-torment- 
ing poet  thought  they  savored  more  of  hatred 
to  the  Este   family,  than  honor  to  himself.* 

•  "Alia  lor  magnanimity  d  convenevole  il  mostrar, 
ch'  amor  delle  virtii,  non  odio  verso  altri,  gli  abbia  gii 
mossi ad  invitarmi con  invito  cosi  largo."—"  Opere,"  voL 
XV.,  p.  94. 


^orauato  ^asso  23 

He  did  not  accept  them.  He  did  nothing 
at  Rome  but  make  friends,  in  order  to  per- 
plex them  ;  listen  to  his  critics,  in  order  to 
worry  himself ;  and  perform  acts  of  piety  in  the 
churches,  by  way  of  showing  that  the  love- 
scenes  in  the  **  Jerusalem  "  were  innocent.  For 
the  bigots  had  begun  to  find  something  very 
questionable  in  mixing  up  so  much  love  with 
war.  The  bloodshed  they  had  no  objection  to. 
The  love  bearded  their  prejudices,  and  excited 
their  envy. 

Tasso  returned  to  Ferrara,  and  endeavored 
to  solace  himself  with  eulogizing  two  fair 
strangers  who  had  arrived  at  Alfonso's  court, — 
Eleonora  Sanvitale,  who  had  been  newly  mar- 
ried to  the  Count  of  Scandiano  (a  Tiene,  not  a 
Boiardo,  whose  line  was  extinct),  and  Barbara 
Sanseverino,  Countess  of  Sala,  her  mother-in- 
law.  The  mother-in-law,  who  was  a  Juno-like 
beauty,  wore  her  hair  in  the  form  of  a  crown. 
The  still  more  beautiful  daughter-in-law  had 
an  under-lip  such  as  Anacreon  or  Sir  John 
Suckling  would  have  admired, — pouting  and 
provoking, — npoxaXovtiEvov  (pikriiia.  Tasso 
wrote  verses  on  them  both,  but  particularly  to 
the  lip  ;  and  this  Countess  of  Scandiano  is  the 
second,  out  of  the  three  Leonoras,  with  whom 
Tasso  was  said  by  his  friend  Manso  to  have 
been  in  love.  The  third,  it  is  now  ascertained, 
never  existed  ;  and  his  love-making  to  the  new 


24  ^orquato  Z^eeo 

or  second  Leonora,  goes  to  show  how  little  of 
real  passion  there  was  in  the  praises  of  the 
first  (the  Princess  Leonora),  or  probably  of  any 
lady  at  court.  He  had  professed  love,  as  a 
forlorn  hope,  to  the  countess'  waiting-maid. 
Yet  these  gallantries  of  sonnets  are  exalted  into 
bewilderments  of  the  heart. 

His  restlessness  returning,  the  poet  now 
condescended  to  craft  a  second  time.  Expect- 
ing to  meet  with  a  refusal,  and  so  be  afforded 
a  pretext  for  quitting  Ferrara,  he  applied  for 
the  vacant  office  of  historiographer.  It  was 
granted  him ;  and  he  then  disgusted  the 
Medici  by  pleading  an  unlooked-for  engage- 
ment, which  he  could  only  reconcile  to  his 
applications  for  their  favor  by  renouncing  his 
claim  to  be  believed.  If  he  could  have  de- 
ceived others,  why  might  he  not  have  deceived 
them? 

All  the  lurking  weakness  of  the  poet's  tem- 
perament began  to  display  itself  at  this  juncture. 
His  perplexity  excited  him  to  a  degree  of  irrita- 
bility bordering  on  delirium  ;  and  the  circum- 
stances conspired  to  increase  it.  He  had  lent 
an  acquaintance  the  key  of  his  rooms  at  court, 
for  the  purpose  (he  tells  us)  of  accommodating 
some  intrigue  ;  and  he  suspected  this  person  of 
opening  cabinets  containing  his  papers.  Re- 
monstrating with  him  one  day  in  the  court  of 


(Torquato  ^asso  25 

the  palace,  either  on  that  or  some  other  ac- 
count, the  man  gave  him  the  lie.  He  received 
in  return  a  blow  on  the  face,  and  is  said  by 
Tasso  to  have  brought  a  set  of  his  kinsmen  to 
assassinate  him,  all  of  whom  the  heroical  poet 
immediately  put  to  flight.  At  one  time  he 
suspected  the  duke  of  jealousy  respecting  the 
dedication  of  his  poem,  and  of  another,  of  a 
wish  to  bum  it.  He  suspected  his  servants. 
He  became  suspicious  of  the  truth  of  his  friend 
Gonzaga.  He  doubted,  even,  whether  some 
of  the  praises  addressed  to  him  by  Orazio 
Ariosto,  the  nephew  of  the  great  poet,  which, 
one  would  have  thought,  would  have  been  to 
him  a  consummation  of  bliss,  were  not  intended 
to  mystify  and  hurt  him.  At  length  he  fancied 
that  his  persecutors  had  accused  him  of  heresy 
to  the  Inquisition  ;  and,  as  he  had  gone  through 
the  metaphysical  doubts,  common  with  most 
men  of  reflection  respecting  points  of  faith  and 
the  mysteries  of  creation,  he  feared  that  some 
indiscreet  words  had  escaped  him,  giving  color 
to  the  charge.  He  thus  beheld  enemies  all 
around  him.  He  dreaded  stabbing  and  poison; 
and  one  day,  in  some  paroxysm  of  rage  or 
horror,  how  occasioned  it  is  not  known,  ran 
with  a  knife  or  dagger  at  one  of  the  ser- 
vants of  the  Duchess  of  Urbino  in  her  own 
chamber. 


26  Uorquato  tTasso 

Alfonso,  upon  this,  apparently  in  the  mildest 
and  most  reasonable  manner,  directed  that 
he  should  be  confined  to  his  apartments,  and 
put  into  the  hands  of  the  physician.  These 
unfortunate  events  took  place  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1577,  and  in  the  poet's  thirty-third 
year. 

Tasso  showed  so  much  affliction  at  this  treat- 
ment, and,  at  the  same  time,  bore  it  so  patiently, 
that  the  duke  took  him  to  his  beautiful  country- 
seat  of  Belriguardo  ;  where,  in  one  of  his  ac- 
counts of  the  matter,  the  poet  says  he  treated 
him  as  a  brother;  but,  in  another,  he  accuses 
him  of  having  taken  pains  to  make  him  crimi- 
nate himself,  and  confess  certain  matters,  real 
or  supposed,  the  nature  of  which  is  a  puzzle  to 
posterity.  Some  are  of  opinion  (and  this  is  the 
prevailing  one),  that  he  was  found  guilty  of 
being  in  love  with  the  Princess  Leonora,  per- 
haps of  being  loved  by  herself.  Others  think 
the  love  out  of  the  question,  and  that  the  duke 
was  concerned  in  nothing  but  his  endeavoring 
to  transfer  his  services  and  his  poetic  reputation 
into  the  hands  of  the  Medici.  Others  see  in  the 
duke's  conduct  nothing  but  that  of  a  good 
master  interesting  himself  in  the  welfare  of  an 
afflicted  servant. 

It  is  certain  that  Alfonso  did  all  he  could  to 
prevent  the  surreptitious  printing  of  the  "Jeru- 


ZTorquato  XTasso  27 

salem  Delivered"  in  various  towns  of  Italy,  the 
dread  of  which  had  much  afflicted  the  poet ;  and 
he  also  endeavored,  though  in  vain,  to  ease  his 
mind  on  the  subject  of  the  Inquisition  ;  for 
these  facts  are  attested  by  state-papers  and  other 
documents,  not  dependent  either  on  the  testi- 
mony of  third  persons  or  the  partial  representa- 
tions of  the  sufferer.  But  Tasso  felt  so  uneasy 
at  Belriguardo,  that  he  requested  leave  to  retire 
awhile  into  a  convent.  He  remained  there  sev- 
eral days,  apparently  so  much  to  his  satisfaction 
that  he  wrote  to  the  duke  to  say  that  it  was  his 
intention  to  become  a  friar  ;  and  yet  he  had  no 
sooner  got  into  the  place,  than  he  addressed  a 
letter  to  the  Inquisition  at  Rome,  beseeching  it 
to  desire  permission  for  him  to  come  to  that 
city,  in  order  to  clear  himself  from  the  charges 
of  his  enemies.  He  also  wrote  to  two  other 
friends,  requesting  them  to  further  his  petition ; 
and  adding  that  the  duke  was  enraged  with  him 
in  consequence  of  the  anger  of  the  Grand  Duke 
of  Tuscany,  who,  it  is  supposed,  had  accused 
Tasso  of  having  revealed  to  Alfonso  some  inde- 
cent epithet  which  his  highness  had  applied  to 
him.^      These  letters  were  undoubtedly  inter- 

*  The  application  is  the  conjecture  of  Black,  vol.  i.,  p. 
317.  Serassi  suppressed  the  whole  passage.  The  inde- 
cent word  would  have  been  known  but  for  the  delicacy 
or  courtliness  of  Muratori,  who  substituted  an  et-cetera  in 
its  place,  observing,  that  he  had  "covered  "  with  it  "an 


28  TTorquato  ZsLseo 

cepted,  for  they  were  fouud  among  the  secret 
archives  of  Modena,  the  only  principality  ulti- 
mately remaining  in  the  Este  family ;  so  that, 
agreeably  to  the  saying  of  listeners  hearing  no 
good  of  themselves,  if  Alfonso  did  not  know  the 
epithet  before,  he  learnt  it  then.  The  reader 
may  conceive  his  feelings.  Tasso,  too,  at  the 
same  time,  was  plaguing  him  with  letters  to 
similar  purpose  ;  and  it  is  observable,  that 
while  in  those  which  he  sent  to  Rome  he 
speaks  of  Cosmo  de'  Medici  as  "  Grand  Duke," 
he  takes  care  in  the  others  to  call  him  simply 
the  **Duke  of  Florence."  Alfonso  had  been 
exasperated  to  the  last  degree  at  Cosmo's  hav- 
ing had  the  epithet  "Grand"  added  by  the 
Pope  to  his  ducal  title  ;  and  the  reader  may 
imagine  the  little  allowance  that  would  be  made 
by  a  haughty  and  angry  prince  for  the  rebellious 
courtesy  thus  shown  to  a  detested  rival.  Tasso, 
furthermore,  who  had  not  only  an  infantine 
hatred  of  bitter  "physic,"  but  reasonably 
thought  the  fashion  of  the  age  for  giving  it  a 
ridiculous  one,  begged  hard,  in  a  manner  which 
it  is  humiliating  to  witness,  that  he  might  not 
be  drenched  with  medicine.  The  duke  at  length 

indecent  word  not  fit  to  be  printed"  ("  sotto  quell'  et- 
cetera ho  io  coperta  un'  indecente  parola,  che  non  era 
lecito  di  lasciar  correre  alle  stampe."— "Opera  del  Tasso," 
vol.  xvi.,  p.  114).  By  "covered"  he  seems  to  have  meant 
blotted  out,  for  in  the  latest  edition  of  Tasso  the  ei-cetera 
is  retained. 


tTorquato  ^asso  29 

forbade  his  writing  to  him  any  more ;  and 
Tasso,  whose  fears  of  every  kind  of  ill  usage 
had  been  wound  up  to  a  pitch  unbearable, 
watched  an  opportunity  when  he  was  carelessly 
guarded,  and  fled  at  once  from  the  convent  and 
Ferrara. 

The  unhappy  poet  selected  the  loneliest  ways 
he  could  find,  and  directed  his  course  to  the 
kingdom  of  Naples,  where  his  sister  lived.  He 
was  afraid  of  pursuit ;  he  probably  had  little 
money  ;  and  considering  his  ill  health  and  his 
dread  of  the  Inquisition,  it  is  pitiable  to  think 
what  he  may  have  endured  while  picking  his 
long  way  through  the  back  states  of  the  Church 
and  over  the  mountains  of  Abruzzo,  as  far  as 
the  Gulf  of  Naples.  For  better  security,  he  ex- 
changed clothes  with  a  shepherd;  and  as  he 
feared  even  his  sister  at  first,  from  doubting 
whether  she  still  loved  him,  his  interview  with 
her  was  in  all  its  circumstances  painfully  dra- 
matic. Cornelia  Tasso,  now  a  widow,  with  two 
sons,  was  still  residing  at  Sorrento,  where  the 
poet,  casting  his  eyes  around  him  as  he  proceed- 
ed towards  the  house,  must  have  beheld  with 
singular  feelings  of  wretchedness  the  lovely 
spots  in  which  he  had  been  a  happy  little  boy. 
He  did  not  announce  himself  at  once.  He 
brought  letters,  he  said,  from  the  lady's  brother ; 
and  it  is  affecting  to  think,  that  whether  his 


30  XTorquato  tTasso 

sister  might  or  might  not  have  retained  other- 
wise any  personal  recollection  of  him  since 
that  time  (for  he  had  not  seen  her  in  the  inter- 
val), his  disguise  was  completed  by  the  altera- 
tions which  sorrow  had  made  in  his  appearance. 
For,  at  all  events,  she  did  not  know  him.  She 
saw  in  him  nothing  but  a  haggard  stranger  who 
was  acquainted  with  the  writer  of  the  letters, 
and  to  whom  they  referred  for  particulars  of  the 
risk  which  her  brother  ran,  unless  she  could 
afford  him  her  protection.  These  particulars 
were  given  by  the  stranger  with  all  the  pathos 
of  the  real  man,  and  the  loving  sister  fainted 
away.  On  her  recovery,  the  visitor  said  what 
he  could  to  reassure  her,  and  then  by  degrees 
discovered  himself.  Cornelia  welcomed  him  in 
the  tenderest  manner.  She  did  all  that  he  de- 
sired ;  and  gave  out  to  her  friends  that  the  gen- 
tleman was  a  cousin  from  Bergamo,  who  had 
come  to  Naples  on  family  affairs. 

For  a  little  while  the  affection  of  his  sister, 
and  the  beauty  and  freshness  of  Sorrento,  ren- 
dered the  mind  of  Tasso  more  easy  :  but  his 
restlessness  returned.  He  feared  he  had  mor- 
tally offended  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  ;  and,  with 
his  wonted  fluctuation  of  purpose,  he  now 
wished  to  be  restored  to  his  presence  for  the 
very  reason  he  had  run  away  from  it.  He  did 
not  know  with  what  vengeance  he  might  be 


Q:orquato  tTaseo  31 

pursued.  He  wrote  to  the  duke,  but  received 
no  answer.  The  Duchess  of  Urbino  was  equally- 
silent.  Leonora  alone  responded,  but  with  no 
encouragement.  These  appearances  only  made 
him  the  more  anxious  to  dare  or  to  propitiate 
his  doom ;  and  he  accordingly  determined  to 
put  himself  in  the  duke's  hands.  His  sister  en- 
treated him  in  vain  to  alter  his  resolution.  He 
quitted  her  before  the  autumn  was  over,  and, 
proceeding  to  Rome,  went  directly  to  the  house 
of  the  duke's  agent  there,  who,  in  concert  with 
the  Ferrarese  ambassador,  gave  his  master  ad- 
vice of  the  circumstance.  Gonzaga,  however, 
and  another  good  friend.  Cardinal  Albano, 
doubted  whether  it  would  be  wise  in  the  poet  to 
return  to  Ferrara  under  any  circumstances. 
They  counselled  him  to  be  satisfied  with  being 
pardoned  at  a  distance,  and  with  having  his 
papers  and  other  things  returned  to  him,  and 
the  two  friends  immediately  wrote  to  the  duke 
requesting  as  much.  The  duke  apparently  ac- 
quiesced in  all  that  was  desired ;  but  he  said 
that  the  illness  of  his  sister,  the  Duchess  of 
Urbino,  delayed  the  procuration  of  the  papers, 
which,  it  seems,  were  chiefly  in  her  hands. 
The  upshot  was  that  the  papers  did  not  come  ; 
and  Tasso,  with  a  mixture  of  rage  and  fear,  and 
perhaps  for  more  reasons  than  he  has  told,  be- 
came uncontrollably  desirous  of  retracing  the  rest 


32  ^orquato  ^asso 

of  his  steps  to  Ferrara.  I^ove  may  have  been 
among  these  reasons — probably  was  ;  though  it 
does  not  follow  that  the  passion  must  have  been 
for  a  princess.  The  poet  now,  therefore,  peti- 
tioned to  that  eflfect,  and  Alfonso  wrote  again  and 
said  he  might  come,  but  only  on  condition  of  his 
again  undergoing  the  ducal  course  of  medicine, 
adding  that  if  he  did  not  he  was  to  be  finally 
expelled  from  his  highness'  territories. 

He  was  graciously  received — too  graciously, 
it  would  seem  for  his  equanimity ;  for  it  gave 
him  such  a  flow  of  spirits  that  the  duke  appears 
to  have  thought  it  necessary  to  repress  them. 
The  unhappy  poet,  at  this,  began  to  have  some 
of  his  old  suspicions,  and  the  unaccountable  de- 
tention of  his  papers  confirmed  them.  He  made 
an  effort  to  keep  the  suspicions  down,  but  it 
was  by  means,  unfortunately,  of  drowning  them 
in  wine  and  jollity,  and  this  gave  him  such  a 
fit  of  sickness  as  had  nearly  been  his  death. 
He  recovered,  only  to  make  a  fresh  stir  about 
his  papers,  and  a  still  greater  one  about  his 
poems  in  general,  which,  though  his  "Jerusa- 
lem "  was  yet  only  known  in  manuscript,  and 
not  even  his  "  Aminta  "  published,  he  believed 
ought  to  occupy  the  attention  of  mankind. 
People  at  Ferrara,  therefore,  not  foreseeing  the 
respect  that  posterity  would  entertain  for  the 
poet,  and  having  no  great  desire  perhaps  to  en- 


trorquato  Zti360  33 

courage  a  man  who  claimed  to  be  a  rival  of 
their  countryman  Ariosto,  now  began  to  con- 
sider their  Neapolitan  guest  not  merely  an 
ingenious  and  pitiable,  but  an  overweening  and 
tiresome  enthusiast.  The  court,  however,  still 
seemed  to  be  interested  in  its  panegyrist,  though 
Tasso  feared  that  Alfonso  meant  to  burn  his 
"Jerusalem."  Alfonso,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
supposed  to  have  feared  that  he  would  burn  it 
himself,  and  the  ducal  praises  with  it.  The 
papers,  at  all  events,  apparently  including  the 
only  fair  copy  of  the  poem,  were  constantly 
withheld,  and  Tasso,  in  a  new  fit  of  despair, 
again  quitted  Ferrara.  This  mystery  of  the 
papers  is  certainly  very  extraordinary. 

The  poet's  first  steps  were  to  Mantua,  where 
he  met  with  no  such  reception  as  encouraged 
him  to  stay.  He  then  went  to  Urbino,  but  did 
not  stop  long.  The  prince  it  is  true,  was  very 
gracious,  and  bandages  for  a  cautery  were  ap- 
plied by  the  fair  hands  of  his  highness'  sister, 
but,  though  the  nurse  enchanted,  the  surgery 
frightened  him.  The  hapless  poet  found  him- 
self pursued  wherever  he  went  by  the  torment- 
ing beneficence  of  medicine.  He  escaped,  and 
went  to  Turin.  He  had  no  passport,  and  pre- 
sented, besides,  so  miserable  an  appearance, 
that  the  people  at  the  gates  roughly  refused 
him  admittance.     He  was  well  received,  how- 


34  ^orquato  ^asso 

ever,  at  court ;  and  as  he  had  begun  to  acknow- 
ledge that  he  was  subject  to  humors  and  delu- 
sions, and  wrote  to  say  as  much  to  Cardinal 
Albano,  who  returned  him  a  most  excellent  and 
affecting  letter,  full  of  the  kindest  regard  and 
good  counsel,  his  friends  entertained  a  hope 
that  he  would  become  tranquil.  But  he  disap- 
pointed them.  He  again  applied  to  Alfonso 
for  permission  to  return  to  Ferrara — again  re- 
ceived it,  though  on  worse  than  the  old  condi- 
tions— and  again  found  himself  in  that  city  in, 
the  beginning  of  the  year  1579,  delighted  at  see- 
ing a  brilliant  assemblage  from  all  quarters  of 
Italy  on  occasion  of  a  new  marriage  of  the 
duke's  (with  a  princess  of  Mantua).  He  made 
up  his  mind  to  think  that  nothing  could  be 
denied  him,  at  such  a  moment  by  the  bride- 
groom whom  he  meant  to  honor  and  glorify. 
Alas !  the  very  circumstance  to  which  he 
looked  for  success,  tended  to  throw  him  into 
the  greatest  of  his  calamities.  Alfonso  was  to 
be  married  the  day  after  the  poet's  arrival.  He 
was  therefore  too  busy  to  attend  to  him.  The 
princesses  did  not  attend  to  him.  Nobody  at- 
tended to  him.  He  again  applied  in  vain  for 
his  papers.  He  regretted  his  return  ;  became 
anxious  to  be  any  where  else  ;  thought  himself 
not  only  neglected  but  derided  ;  and  at  length 
became  excited  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy.     He  broke 


XTorquato  tTaseo  35 

forth  into  the  most  unmeasured  invectives 
against  the  duke,  even  in  public;  invoked 
curses  on  his  head  and  that  of  his  whole  race  ; 
retracted  all  he  had  ever  said  in  the  praise  of 
any  of  them,  prince  or  otherwise  ;  and  pro- 
nounced him  and  his  whole  court  "  a  parcel  of 
ingrates,  rascals,  and  poltroons."*  The  out- 
break was  reported  to  the  duke  ;  and  the  con- 
sequence was,  that  the  poet  was  sent  to  the 
hospital  of  St.  Anne,  an  establishment  for  the 
reception  of  the  poor  and  lunatic,  where  he  re- 
mained (with  the  exception  of  a  few  unaccount- 
able leave-days)  upwards  of  seven  years.  This 
melancholy  event  happened  in  the  March  of 
the  year  1579. 

Tasso  was  stunned  by  this  blow  as  much  as  if 
he  had  never  done  or  suffered  any  thing  to  ex- 
pect it.  He  could  at  first  do  nothing  but  won- 
der and  bewail  himself,  and  implore  to  be  set 
free.  The  duke  answered,  that  he  must  be 
cured  first.  Tasso  replied  by  fresh  entreaties  ; 
the  duke  returned  the  same  answers.  The  un- 
happy poet  had  recourse  to  every  friend,  prince, 
and  great  man  he  could  think  of,  to  join  his  en- 
treaties ;  he  sought  refuge  in  composition,  but 
still  entreated  ;  he  occasionally  reproached  and 

*  Black's  version  (vol.  ii.,  p.  58)  is  not  strong  enough. 
The  words  in  Serassi  are  "  una  ciurma  di  poltroni, 
ingrati,  e  ribaldi,"  ii.,  p.  33. 


36  XTorquato  ^disso 

even  bantered  the  duke  in  some  of  his  letters  to 
his  friends,  all  of  which,  doubtless,  were  opened  ; 
but  still  he  entreated,  flattered,  adored,  all  to  no 
purpose,  for  seven  long  years  and  upwards.  In 
time  he  became  subject  to  maniacal  illusions ; 
so  that  if  he  was  not  actually  mad  before,  he 
was  now  considered  so.  He  was  not  only  vis- 
ited with  sights  and  sounds,  such  as  many  people 
have  experienced  whose  brains  have  been  over- 
excited, but  he  fancied  himself  haunted  by  a 
sprite,  and  become  the  sport  of  "magicians.''' 
The  sprite  stole  his  things,  and  the  magicians 
would  not  let  him  get  well.  He  had  a  vision 
such  as  Benvenuto  Cellini  had,  of  the  Virgin 
Mary  in  her  glory  ;  and  his  nights  were  so  mis- 
erable, that  he  ate  too  much  in  order  that  he 
might  sleep.  When  he  was  temperate,  he  lay 
awake.  Sometimes  he  felt  "  as  if  a  horse  had 
thrown  himself  on  him."  "  Have  pity  on  me," 
he  says  to  the  friend  to  whom  he  gives  these 
affecting  accounts  ;  "I  am  miserable,  because 
the  world  is  unjust."  * 

The  physicians  advised  him  to  leave  off"  wine  ; 
but  he  says  he  could  not  do  that,  though  he  was 
content  to  use  it  in  moderation.  In  truth  he 
required  something  to  support  him  against  the 
physicians  themselves,  for  they  continued  to 
exhaust  his  strength  by  their  medicines,  and 
*  "  Opere,"  vol.  xiv.,  pp.  158,  174,  etc. 


^orquato  vTasgo  37 

could  not  supply  the  want  of  it  with  air  and 
freedom.  He  had  ringings  in  the  ears,  vomits, 
and  fluxes  of  blood.  It  would  be  ludicrous,  if 
it  were  not  deplorably  pathetic,  to  hear  so  great 
a  man,  in  the  commonest  medical  terms,  now 
protesting  against  the  eternal  drenches  of  these 
practitioners,  now  humbly  submitting  to  them, 
and  now  entreating  like  a  child,  that  they 
might  at  least  not  be  "  so  bitter."  The  physi- 
cians, with  the  duke  at  their  head,  were  as  mad 
for  their  rhubarbs  and  lancets  as  the  quacks  in 
Moliere ;  and  nothing  but  the  very  imagination 
that  had  nearly  sacrificed  the  poet's  life  to  their 
ignorance  could  have  hindered  him  from  dash- 
ing his  head  against  the  wall,  and  leaving  them 
to  the  execrations  of  posterity.  It  is  the  only 
occasion  in  which  the  noble  profession  of  medi- 
cine has  not  appeared  in  wise  and  beneficent 
connection  with  the  sufferings  of  men  of  letters. 
Why  did  Ferrara  possess  no  Brocklesby  in 
those  days  ?  no  Garth,  Mead,  Warren,  or  South- 
wood  Smith  ? 

Tasso  enabled  himself  to  endure  his  impris- 
onment with  composition.  He  supported  it 
with  his  poetry  and  his  poem,  and  what,  alas  ! 
he  had  been  too  proud  of  during  his  liberty,  the 
praises  of  his  admirers.  His  genius  brought 
him  gifts  from  princes,  and  some  money  from 
the  booksellers  :  it  supported  him  even  against 


38  ^orquato  tlaeso 

his  critics.  During  his  confinement  the  "Jeru- 
salem Delivered"  was  first  published  ;  though, 
to  his  grief,  from  a  surreptitious  and  mutilated 
copy.  But  it  was  followed  by  a  storm  of  ap- 
plause ;  and  if  this  was  succeeded  by  as  great  a 
storm  of  objection  and  controversy,  still  the 
healthier  part  of  his  faculties  were  roused,  and 
he  exasperated  his  critics  and  astonished  the 
world  by  showing  how  coolly  and  learnedly  the 
poor,  wild,  imprisoned  genius  could  discuss  the 
most  intricate  questions  of  poetry  and  philosp- 
phy.  The  disputes  excited  by  his  poem  are 
generally  supposed  to  have  done  him  harm  ; 
but  the  conclusion  appears  to  be  ill  founded. 
They  diverted  his  thoughts,  and  made  him  con- 
scious of  his  powers  and  his  fame.  I  doubt 
whether  he  would  have  been  better  for  entire 
approbation  :  it  would  have  put  him  in  a  state 
of  elevation,  unfit  for  what  he  had  to  endure. 
He  had  found  his  pen  his  great  solace,  and  he 
had  never  employed  it  so  well.  It  would  be 
incredible  what  a  heap  of  things  he  wrote  in 
this  complicated  torment  of  imprisonment, 
sickness,  and  "physic,"  if  habit  and  mental 
activity  had  not  been  sufficient  to  account  for 
much  greater  wonders.  His  letters  to  his 
friends  and  others  would  make  a  good-sized 
volume  ;  those  to  his  critics,  another ;  sonnets 
and    odes,    a    third ;    and   his  Dialogues   after 


^ocquato  Zaeeo  39 


the  manner  of  Plato,  two  more.  Perhaps  a 
good  half  of  all  he  wrote  was  written  in  this 
hospital  of  St.  Anne  ;  and  he  studied  as  well  as 
composed,  and  had  to  read  all  that  was  written 
at  the  time,  pro  and  C07i,  in  the  discussions 
about  his  "Jerusalem,"  which,  in  the  latest 
edition  of  his  works,  amount  to  three  out  of  six 
volumes  octavo  !  Many  of  the  occasions,  how- 
ever, of  his  poems,  as  well  as  letters,  are  most 
painful  to  think  of,  their  object  having  been  to 
exchange  praise  for  money.  And  it  is  distress- 
ing, in  the  letters,  to  see  his  other  little  wants, 
and  the  fluctuations  and  moods  of  his  mind. 
Now  he  is  angry  about  some  book  not  restored, 
or  some  gift  promised  and  delayed.  Now  he  is 
in  want  of  some  books  to  be  lent  him  ;  now  of 
some  praise  to  comfort  him  ;  now  of  a  little 
fresh  linen.  He  is  very  thankful  for  visits,  for 
respectful  letters,  for  "sweetmeats";  and 
greatly  puzzled  to  know  what  to  do  with  the 
bad  sonnets  and  panegyrics  that  are  sent  him. 
They  were  sometimes  too  much  even  for  the 
allowed  ultra  courtesies  of  Italian  acknowledge- 
ment. His  compliments  to  most  people  are 
varied  with  astonishing  grace  and  ingenuity; 
his  accounts  of  his  condition  often  sufficient  to 
bring  the  tears  into  the  manliest  eyes  ;  and  his 
ceaseless  and  vain  efforts  to  procure  his  liber- 
ation   mortifying  when  we  think   of  himself, 


40  tTorcjuato  tTasso 

and  exasperating  when  we  think  of  the  petty 
despot  who  detained  him  in  so  long,  so  degrad- 
ing, and  so  worse  than  useless  confinement. 

Tasso  could  not  always  conceal  his  contempt 
of  his  imprisoner  from  the  ducal  servants.  Al- 
fonso excelled  the  grandiloquent  poet  himself 
in  his  love  of  pomp  and  worship ;  and  as  he 
had  no  particular  merits  to  warrant  it,  his  vic- 
tim bantered  his  love  of  titles.  He  says,  in  a 
letter  to  the  duke's  steward  :  **If  it  is  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  Most  Serene  Signor  Duke,  Most 
Clement  and  Most  Invincible,  to  keep  me  in 
prison,  may  I  beg  that  he  will  have  the  good- 
ness to  return  certain  little  things  of  mine, 
which  his  Most  Invincible,  Most  Clement,  and 
Most  Serene  Highness  has  so  often  promised 
me."* 

But  these  were  rare  ebullitions  of  gayety,  per- 
haps rather  of  bitter  despair.  A  playful  address 
to  a  cat  to  lend  him  her  eyes  to  write  by,  during 
some  hour  in  which  he  happened  to  be  without 
a  light  (for  it  does  not  appear  to  have  been  de- 
nied him),  may  be  taken  as  more  probable 
evidence  of  a  mind  relieved  at  the  moment, 
though  the  necessity  for  the  relief  may  have 


*  "  Prego  V.Signoria  che  si  contenti,  se  piace  al  Serenis- 
simo  Signor  Duca,  Clementissimo  ed  Invitissimo,  che  io 
stia  in  pri^one,  di  farmi  dar  le  poche  robicciole  mie,  che 
S.  A.  Invitissima,  Clementissinia,  Serenissima  m'  ha 
pronjesse  tante  volte,"  etc. — "  Opere,"  vol.  xiv.,  p.  6, 


trorquato  XLti660 


been  very  sad.  But  the  style  in  which  he  gen- 
erally alludes  to  his  situation  is  far  different. 
He  continually  begs  his  correspondents  to  pity 
him,  to  pray  for  him,  to  attribute  his  errors  to 
infirmity.  He  complains  of  impaired  memory, 
and  acknowledges  that  he  has  become  subject 
to  the  deliriums  formerly  attributed  to  him  by 
the  enemies  that  helped  to  produce  them. 
Petitioning  the  native  city  of  his  ancestors 
(Bergamo)  to  intercede  for  him  with  the  duke, 
he  speaks  of  the  writer  as  *'  this  unhappy  per- 
son," and  subscribes  himself, — 

"Most  illustrious  Signors,  your  affectionate 
servant,  Torquato  Tasso,  a  prisoner,  and  infirm, 
in  the  hospital  of  St.  Anne  in  Ferrara." 

In  one  of  his  addresses  to  Alfonso,  he  says 
most  affectingly  : 

"I have  sometimes  attributed  much  to  my- 
self, and  considered  myself  as  somebody.  But 
now,  seeing  in  how  many  ways  imagination  has 
imposed  on  me,  I  suspect  that  it  has  also  de- 
ceived me  in  this  opinion  of  my  own  conse- 
quence. Indeed,  methinks  the  past  has  been  a 
dream  ;  and  hence  I  am  resolved  to  rely  on  my 
imagination  no  longer." 

Alfonso  made  no  answer. 

The  causes  of  Tasso' s  imprisonment,  and  its 
long  duration,  are  among  the  puzzles  of  biog- 
raphy.    The  prevailing  opinion,  notwithstand- 


42  ^orquato  XTasso 

ing  the  opposition  made  to  it  by  Serassi  and 
Black,  is,  that  the  poet  made  love  to  the  Prin- 
cess Leonora — perhaps  was  beloved  by  her  ;  and 
that  her  brother  the  duke  punished  him  for  his 
arrogance.  This  was  the  belief  of  his  earliest 
biographer,  Manso,  who  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  the  poet  in  his  latter  days ;  and 
from  Manso  (though  he  did  not  profess  to  re- 
ceive the  information  from  Tasso,  but  only  to 
gather  it  from  his  poems)  it  spread  all  over  Eu- 
rope. Milton  took  it  on  trust  from  him  ;  *  and 
so  have  our  Bnglish  translators  Hoole  and 
Wiffen.  The  Abbe  de  Charnes,  however,  de- 
clined to  do  so  ;  t  and  Montaigne,  who  saw  the 
poet  in  St.  Anne's  hospital,  says  nothing  of  the 
love  at  all.  He  attributes  his  condition  to 
poetical  excitement,  hard  study,  and  the  meet- 
ing of  the  extremes  of  wisdom  and  folly.  The 
philosopher,  however,  speaks  of  the  poet's  hav- 
ing survived  his  reason,  and  become  uncon- 
scious both  of  himself  and  his  works,  which  the 
reader  knows  to  be  untrue.  He  does  not  appear 
to  have  conversed  with  Tasso.  The  poet  was 
only  shown  him ;  probably  at  a  sick  moment, 
or  by  a  new  and  ignorant  official.:}:     Muratori, 


*  "  Altera  Torquatum  cepit  I^eonora  poetam,"  etc. 
t  "  Vie  du  Tasse,"  1695,  p.  51. 

X  In  the  "  Apology  for  Raimond  de  Sebonde  ;  "  Essays, 
vol.  ii.,  ch.  12. 


tlorquato  XLaeso  43 

who  was  in  the  service  of  the  Este  family  at 
Modena,  tells  us,  on  the  authority  of  an  old  ac- 
quaintance who  knew  contemporaries  of  Tasso, 
that  the  "  good  Torquato"  finding  himself  one 
day  in  company  with  the  duke  and  his  sister, 
and  going  close  to  the  princess  in  order  to  an- 
swer some  question  which  she  had  put  to  him, 
was  so  transported  by  an  impulse  "more  than 
poetical,"  as  to  give  her  a  kiss  ;  upon  which  the 
duke,  who  had  observed  it,  turned  about  to  his 
gentleman,  and  said,  "What  a  pity  to  see  so 
great  a  man  distracted!"  and  so  ordered  him 
to  be  locked  up.*  But  this  writer  adds,  that  he 
does  not  know  what  to  think  of  the  anecdote  : 
he  neither  denies  nor  admits  it.  Tiraboschi, 
who  was  also  in  the  service  of  the  Este  family, 
doubts  the  truth  of  the  anecdote,  and  believes 
that  the  duke  shut  the  poet  up  solely  for  fear 
lest  his  violence  should  do  harm.f  Serassi,  the 
second  biographer  of  Tasso,  who  dedicated  his 
book  to  an  Este  princess  inimical  to  the  poet's 
memory,  attributes  the  confinement,  on  his  own 
showing,  to  the  violent  words  he  had  uttered 
against  his  master.]:     Walker,  the  author  of  the 

*In  his  letter  to  Zeno,— "  Opere  del  Tasso,"  xvi., 
p.  ii8. 

t  "  Storia  della  Poesia  Italiana  "  (Matthias'  edition), 
vol.  iii.,  part  i.,  p.  236. 

t  Serassi  is  very  peremptory,  and  even  abusive.  He 
charges  every  body  who  has  said  any  thing  to  the  con- 
trary with  imposture.     "  Egli  non  v'  ha  dubbio,  che  le 


44  ilorquato  ^asso 

"Memoir  on  Italian  Tragedy,"  says,  that  the 
life  by  Serassi  himself  induced  him  to  credit 
the  love-story:"^  so  does  Ginguene.f  Black, 
forgetting  the  age  and  illnesses  of  hundreds  of 
enamoured  ladies,  and  the  distraction  of  lovers 
at  all  times,  derides  the  notion  of  passion  on 
either  side  :  because,  he  argues,  Tasso  was  sub- 
ject to  frenzies,  and  Leonora  forty -two  years  of 
age,  and  not  in  good-health.J  What  would 
Madame  d'Houdetot  have  said  to  him  ?  or  Made- 
moiselle Iv'Espinasse?  or  Mrs.  Inchbald,  w)io 
used  to  walk  up  and  down  Sackville  Street  in 
order  that  she  might  see  Dr.  Warren's  light  in 
his  window?  Foscolo  was  a  believer  in  the 
love  ;  I  Sismondi  admits  it ;  ||  and  Rosini,  the 
editor  of  the  latest  edition  of  the  poet's  works, 
is  passionate  for  it.     He  wonders  how  any  body 

troppe  itnprudenti  e  temerarie  parole,  che  il  Tasso  si 
lascio  uscir  di  bocca  in  questo  incontro,  furone  la  sola 
cagione  della  sua  prigionia,  e  ch'  e  mera  favola  ed  tm- 
posUira  tutto  cio,  che  diversamente  e  stato  affermato  e 
scritto  da  altri  in  tale  proposito."  Vol.  ii.,  p.  33.  But  we 
have  seen  that  the  good  Abbe  could  practise  a  little  im- 
position himself. 

*  Black,  ii.,  88.        f  "  Hist.  Utt.  d'ltalie,"  v.,  243,  etc. 

J  Vol.  ii.,p.  89. 

g  Such  at  least  is  my  impression  ;  but  I  cannot  call  the 
evidence  to  mind. 

II  "  I^iterature  of  the  South  of  Europe  "  (Roscoe's  trans- 
lation), vol.  ii.,  p.  165.  To  show  the  loose  way  in  which 
the  conclusions  of  a  man's  own  mind  are  presented  as 
facts  admitted  by  others,  Sismondi  says,  that  Tasso's 
"  passion  "was  the  cause  of  his  return  to  Ferrara.  There 
is  not  a  tittle  of  evidence  to  show  for  it. 


tTorquato  ^asso  4! 

can  fail  to  discern  it  in  a  number  of  passages, 
which,  in  truth,  may  mean  a  variety  of  other 
loves  ;  and  he  insists  much  upon  certain  loose 
verses  {lascivi)  which  the  poet,  among  his 
various  accounts  of  the  origin  of  his  imprison- 
ment, assigns  as  the  cause,  or  one  of  the  causes, 
of  it.  ^ 

I  confess,  after  a  reasonable  amount  of  in- 
quiry into  this  subject,  that  I  can  find  no 
proofs  whatsoever  of  Tasso's  having  made  love 
to  Leonora ;  though  I  think  it  highly  probable. 
I  believe  the  main  cause  of  the  duke's  proceed- 
ings was  the  poet's  own  violence  of  behavior 
and  incontinence  of  speech.  I  think  it  very 
likely  that,  in  the  course  of  the  poetical  love- 
making  to  various  ladies,  which  was  almost 
identical  in  that  age  with  addressing  them  in 
verse,  Torquato,  whether  he  was  in  love  or  not, 
took  more  liberties  with  the  princesses  than 
Alfonso  approved  ;  and  it  is  equally  probable, 
that  one  of  those  liberties  consisted  in  his  in- 
dulging his  imagination  too  far.  It  is  not  even 
impossible,  that  more  gallantry  may  have  been 
going  on  at  court  than  Alfonso  could  endure  to 

*  "  Saggio  sugli  Amori,"  etc.,  ut.  sup.,  p.  84,  and  passim. 
As  specimens  of  the  learned  professor's  reasoning,  it 
may  be  observed  that  whenever  the  w^ords  humble,  dar- 
ing, high,  noble,  and  royal,  occur  in  the  poet's  love-verses, 
he  thinks  they  m.ust  allude  to  the  Princess  Leonora  ;  and 
he  argues,  that  Alfonso  never  could  have  been  so  angry 
with  any  "  versi  lascivi,"  if  they  had  not  had  the  same 
direction. 


46  tTorquato  tiasso 

see  alluded  to,  especially  by  an  ambitious  pen. 
But  there  is  no  evidence  that  such  was  the  case. 
Tasso,  as  a  gentleman,  could  not  have  hinted 
at  such  a  thing  on  the  part  of  a  princess  of  staid 
reputation  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  "  love  " 
he  speaks  of  as  entertained  by  her  for  him,  and 
warranting  the  application  to  her  for  money  in 
case  of  his  death,  was  too  plainly  worded  to 
mean  any  thing  but  love  in  the  sense  of  friend- 
ly regard.  ' '  Per  amor  mio  "is  an  idiomatical 
expression,  meaning  "  for  my  sake  ;  "  a  strong 
one,  no  doubt,  and  such  as  a  proud  man  like 
Alfonso  might  think  a  liberty,  but  not  at  all  of 
necessity  an  amatory  boast.  If  it  was,  its  very 
effrontery  and  vanity  were  presumptions  of  its 
falsehood.  The  lady  whom  Tasso  alludes  to  in 
the  passage  quoted  on  his  first  confinement  is 
complained  of  for  her  coldness  towards  him  ; 
and,  unless  this  was  itself  a  gentlemanly  blind, 
it  might  apply  to  fifty  other  ladies  besides  the 
princess.  The  man  who  assaulted  him  in  the 
streets,  and  who  is  supposed  to  have  been  the 
violator  of  his  papers,  need  not  have  found  any 
secrets  of  love  in  them.  The  servant  at  whom 
he  aimed  the  knife  or  the  dagger  might  be  as 
little  connected  with  such  matters ;  and  the 
sonnets  which  the  poet  said  he  wrote  for  a 
friend,  and  which  he  desired  to  be  buried  with 
him,  might  be  alike  innocent  of  all  reference  to 


^orauato  XlaBSo  47 


Leonora,  whether  he  wrote  them  for  a  friend  or 
not.  Leonora's  death  took  place  during  the 
poet's  confinement ;  and,  lamented  as  she  was 
by  the  verse-writers  according  to  custom,  Tasso 
wrote  nothing  on  the  event.  This  silence  has 
been  attributed  to  the  depth  of  his  passion  ;  but 
how  is  the  fact  proved?  and  why  may  it  not 
have  been  occasioned  by  there  having  been  no 
passion  at  all  ? 

All  that  appears  certain  is,  that  Tasso  spoke 
violent  and  contemptuous  words  against  the 
duke ;  that  he  often  spoke  ill  of  him  in  his 
letters  ;  that  he  endeavored,  not  with  perfect 
ingenuousness,  to  exchange  his  service  for  that 
of  another  prince ;  that  he  asserted  his  madness 
to  have  been  pretended  in  the  first  instance 
purely  to  gratify  the  duke's  whim  for  think- 
ing it  so  (which  was  one  of  the  reasons  perhaps 
why  Alfonso,  as  he  complained,  would  not  be- 
lieve a  word  he  said)  ;  and  finally,  that,  whether 
the  madness  was  or  was  not  so  pretended,  it 
unfortunately  became  a  confirmed  though 
milder  form  of  mania,  during  a  long  confine- 
ment. 

Alfonso,  too  proud  to  forgive  the  poet's  con- 
tempt, continued  thus  to  detain  him,  partly 
perhaps  because  he  was  not  sorry  to  have  a  pre- 
text for  revenge,  partly  because  he  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  him  consistently  either  with  his 


48  tlorquato  ^asao 

own  or  the  poet's  safety.  He  liad  not  been 
generous  enough  to  put  Tasso  above  his  -wants  ; 
he  had  not  address  enough  to  secure  his  respect ; 
he  had  not  merit  enough  to  overlook  his  re- 
proaches. If  Tasso  had  been  as  great  a  man  as 
he  was  a  poet,  Alfonso  would  not  have  been  re- 
duced to  these  perplexities.  The  poet  would 
have  known  how  to  settle  quietly  down  on  his 
small  court-income,  and  wait  patiently  in  the 
midst  of  his  beautiful  visions  for  what  fortune 
had  or  had  not  in  store  for  him.  But  in  truth; 
he,  as  well  as  the  duke,  was  weak  ;  they  made 
a  bad  business  of  it  between  them  ;  and  Alfonso 
the  Second  closed  the  accounts  of  the  Este 
family  with  the  Muses,  by  keeping  his  pane- 
gyrist seven  years  in  a  mad-house,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  posterity,  and  the  destruction  of  his 
own  claims  to  renown. 

It  does  not  appear  that  Tasso  was  confined  in 
any  such  dungeon  as  they  now  exhibit  in  Fer- 
rara.  The  conduct  of  the  Prior  of  the  Hospital 
is  more  doubtful.  His  name  was  Agostino 
Mosti ;  and,  strangely  enough,  he  was  the  per- 
son who  had  raised  a  monument  to  Ariosto,  of 
whom  he  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer.  To  this 
predilection  has  been  attributed  his  alleged 
crueltj'  to  the  stranger  from  Sorrento,  who 
dared  to  emulate  the  fame  of  his  idol, — an  ex- 
traordinary,  though    perhaps    not    incredible. 


^orquato  Zaeeo  49 

mode  of  showing  a  critic's  regard  for  poetry. 
But  Tasso,  while  he  laments  his  severity,  won- 
ders at  it  in  a  man  so  well-bred  and  so  imbued 
with  literature,  and  thinks  it  can  only  have 
originated  in  "orders."*  Perhaps  there  were 
faults  of  temper  on  both  sides  ;  and  Mosti,  not 
liking  his  office,  forgot  the  allowance  to  be 
made  for  that  of  a  prisoner  and  sick  man. 
His  nephew,  Giulio  Mosti,  became  strongly 
attached  to  the  poet,  and  was  a  great  comfort 
to  him. 

At  length  the  time  for  liberation  arrived.  In 
the  summer  of  1586,  Don  Vincenzo  Gonzaga, 
Prince  of  Mantua,  kinsman  of  the  poet's  friend 
Scipio,  came  to  Ferrara  for  the  purpose  of  com- 
plimenting Alfonso's  heir  on  his  nuptials.  The 
whole  court  of  Mantua,  with  hereditary  regard 
for  Tasso,  whose  father  had  been  one  of  their 
ornaments,  were  desirous  of  having  him  among 
them  ;  and  the  prince  extorted  Alfonso's  per- 
mission to  take  him  away,  on  condition  (so  hard 
did  he  find  this  late  concession  to  humanity, 
and  so  fearful  was  he  of  losing  the  dignity  of 
jailor)  that  his  deliverer  should  not  allow  him 
to  quit  Mantua  without  obtaining  leave.  A 
young  and  dear  friend,  his  most  frequent  visi- 
tor, Antonio  Constantini,  secretary  to  the  Tus- 
can ambassador,  went  to  St.  Anne's  to  prepare 
*  "  Opere,"  vol.  xvii.,  p.  32. 


50  Q:orquato  ^asso 

the  captive  by  degrees  for  the  good  news.  He 
told  him  that  he  really  might  look  for  his  re- 
lease in  the  course  of  a  few  days.  The  sensi- 
tive poet,  now  a  premature  old  man  of  forty-two, 
was  thrown  into  a  transport  of  mingled  delight 
and  anxiety.  He  had  been  disappointed  so  of- 
ten that  he  could  scarcely  believe  his  good  for- 
tune. In  a  day  or  two  he  writes  thus  to  his 
visitor  : 

"Your  kindness,  my  dear  friend,  has  so  accus- 
tomed me  to  your  precious  and  frequent  visits,, 
that  I  have  been  all  day  long  at  the  window  ex- 
pecting your  coming  to  comfort  me  as  you  are 
wont.  But  since  you  have  not  yet  arrived,  and 
in  order  not  to  remain  altogether  without  con- 
solation, I  visit  you  with  this  letter.  It  en- 
closes a  sonnet  to  the  ambassador,  written  with 
a  trembling  hand,  and  in  such  a  manner  that 
he  will  not,  perhaps,  have  less  difficulty  in  read- 
ing it  than  I  had  in  writing." 

Two  days  afterwards,  the  prince  himself  came 
again,  requested  of  the  poet  some  verses  on  a 
given  subject,  expressed  his  esteem  for  his 
genius  and  virtues,  and  told  him  that,  on  his 
return  to  Mantua,  he  should  have  the  pleasure 
of  conducting  him  to  that  city.  Tasso  lay  awake 
almost  all  night,  composing  the  verses  ;  and 
next  day  enclosed  them,  with  a  letter,  in  an- 
other to  Constantini,  ardently  begging  him  to 


^orquato  Zdieeo  51 

keep  the  prince  in  mind  of  his  promise.  The 
prince  had  not  forgotten  it ;  and  two  or  three 
days  afterwards,  the  order  for  the  release  ar- 
rived, and  Tasso  quitted  his  prison.  He  had 
been  confined  seven  years,  two  months  and 
several  days.  He  awaited  the  prince's  depar- 
ture for  a  week  or  two  in  his  friend's  abode, 
paying  no  visits,  probably  from  inability  to 
endure  so  much  novelty.  Neither  was  he  in- 
clined or  sent  for  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
duke.  Two  such  parties  could  hardly  have 
been  desirous  to  look  on  each  other.  The  duke 
must  especially  have  disliked  the  thought  of 
it ;  though  Tasso  afterwards  fancied  otherwise, 
and  that  he  was  offended  at  his  non-appearance. 
But  his  letters,  unfortunately,  differ  with  them- 
selves on  this  point,  as  on  most  others.  About 
the  middle  of  July,  1586,  the  poet  quitted  Fer- 
rara  forever. 

At  Mantua,  Tasso  was  greeted  with  all  the 
honors  and  attentions  which  his  love  of  distinc- 
tion could  desire.  The  good  old  duke,  the 
friend  of  his  father,  ordered  handsome  apart- 
ments to  be  provided  for  him  in  the  palace ;  the 
prince  made  him  presents  of  costly  attire,  in- 
cluding perfumed  silken  hose  (kindred  elegan- 
cies to  the  Italian  gloves  of  Queen  Elizabeth)  ; 
the  princess  and  her  mother-in-law  were  de- 
clared admirers  of  his  poetry;   the   courtiers 


52  ^orquato  tiasso 

caressed  the  favorite  of  their  masters  ;  Tasso 
found  literary  society  ;  he  pronounced  the  very 
bread  and  fruit,  the  fish  and  the  flesh,  excel- 
lent ;  the  wines  were  sharp  and  brisk  ("  such  as 
his  father  was  fond  of")  ;  and  even  the  physi- 
cian was  admirable,  for  he  ordered  confections. 
One  might  imagine,  if  circumstances  had  not 
proved  the  cordial  nature  of  the  Gonzaga  fam- 
ily, and  the  real  respect  and  admiration  enter- 
tained for  the  poet's  genius  by  the  greatest  men 
of  the  time,  in  spite  of  the  rebuke  it  had  re-, 
ceived  from  Alfonso,  that  there  had  been  a  con- 
federacy to  mock  and  m^-stify  him,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  duke  and  duchess  with  Don 
Quixote  (the  only  blot,  by  the  way,  in  the  book 
of  Cervantes  ;  if,  indeed,  he  did  not  intend  it  as 
a  satire  on  the  mystifiers). 

For  a  while,  in  short,  the  liberated  prisoner 
thought  himself  happy.  He  corrected  his  prose 
works,  resumed  and  finished  the  tragedy  of 
Torrisnioiid,  which  he  had  begun  some  years 
before,  corresponded  with  princes,  and  com- 
pleted and  published  a  narrative  poem  left  un- 
finished by  his  father.  Torquato  was  as  loving 
a  son  as  Mozart  or  Montaigne.  Whenever  he 
had  a  glimpse  of  felicity,  he  appears  to  have 
associated  the  idea  of  it  with  that  of  his  father. 
In  the  conclusion  of  his  fragment,  "  O  del 
grand'  Apennino,"  he  affectingly  begs  pardon 


tlorauato  trasso  53 

of  his  blessed  spirit  for  troubling  him  with  his 
earthly  griefs.* 

But,  alas,  what  had  been  an  indulgence  of 
self-esteem  had  now  become  the  habit  of  a  dis- 
ease ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  months  the 
restless  poet  began  to  make  his  old  discovery, 
that  he  was  not  sufficiently  cared  for.  The 
prince  had  no  leisure  to  attend  to  him  ;  the 
nobility  did  not  "  yield  him  the  first  place,"  or 
at  least  (he  adds)  they  did  not  allow  him  to  be 
treated  "externally  as  their  equal"  ;  and  he 
candidly  confessed  that  he  could  not  live  in  a 
place  where  such  was  the  custom,  f  He  felt 
also,  naturally  enough,  however  well  it  might 
have  been  intended,  that  it  was  not  pleasant  to 
be  confined  to  the  range  of  the  city  of  Mantua, 
attended  by  a  servant,   even   though   he  con- 

*  "  Padre,  o  buon  padre,  che  dal  ciel  rimiri, 
Egro  e  morto  ti  piansi,  e  ben  tu  il  sai ; 
E  gemendo  scaldai 

I^a  tomba  e  il  letto.     Or  che  negli  altri  giri 
Tu  godi,  a  te  si  deve  onor,  non  lutto  : 
A  me  versato  il  mio  dolor  sia  tutto." 
O  father,  my  good  father,  looking  now 
On  thy  poor  son  from  heaven,  well  knowest  thou 
What  scalding  tears  I  shed 
Upon  thy  grave,  upon  thy  dying  bed ; 
But  since  thou  dwellest  in  the  happy  skies, 
'T  is  fit  I  raise  to  thee  no  sorrowing  eyes : 
Be  all  my  grief  on  my  own  head. 
t  "  Non  posso  viver  in  citt^,  ove  tutti  i  nobili,  o  non  mi 
concedano  i  primi  luoghi,  o  almeno  non  si  contentino 
che  la  cosa  in  quel  che  appartiene  a  queste  esteriori 
dimostrazioni,  vada  del  pan."— "  Opere,"  vol.  xiii.,  p. 
153- 


54  ^orquato  G^asao 

fessed  that  he  was  now  subject  to  "frenzy." 
He  contrived  to  stay  another  half  year  by  help 
of  a  brilliant  carnival  and  of  the  select  society 
of  the  prince's  court,  who  were  evidently  most 
kind  to  him  ;  but  at  the  end  of  the  twelvemonth 
he  was  in  Bergamo  among  his  relations.  The 
prince  gave  him  leave  to  go ;  and  the  Cavaliere 
Tasso,  his  kinsman,  sent  his  chariot  on  purpose 
to  fetch  him. 

Here  again  he  found  himself  at  a  beautiful 
country-seat,  which  the  family  of  Tasso  st,ill 
possesses  near  that  city  ;  and  here  again,  in  the 
house  of  his  father,  he  proposed  to  be  happy, 
"having  never  desired,"  he  says,  "any  jour- 
ney more  earnestly  than  this."  He  left  it  in 
the  course  of  a  month,  to  return  to  Mantua. 

And  it  was  only  to  wander  still.  Mantua  he 
quitted  in  less  than  two  months  to  go  to  Rome, 
in  spite  of  the  advice  of  his  best  friends.  He 
vindicated  the  proceeding  by  a  hope  of  obtain- 
ing some  permanent  settlement  from  the  Pope. 
He  took  I/oretto  by  the  way,  to  refresh  himself 
with  devotion  ;  arrived  in  a  transport  at  Rome  ; 
got  nothing  from  the  Pope  (the  hard-minded 
Sixtus  the  Fifth)  ;  and  in  the  spring  of  the  next 
year,  in  the  triple  hope  of  again  embracing  his 
sister,  and  recovering  the  dowry  of  his  mother 
and  the  confiscated  property  of  his  father,  he 
proceeded  to  Naples. 


^orquato  C:as60  55 

Naples  was  in  its  most  beautiful  vernal  con- 
dition, and  the  Neapolitans  welcomed  the  poet 
with  all  honor  and  glory ;  but  his  sister,  alas, 
was  dead  ;  he  got  none  of  his  father's  property, 
nor  (till  too  late)  any  of  his  mother's  ;  and  be- 
fore the  year  was  out,  he  was  again  in  Rome. 
He  acquired  in  Naples,  however,  another  friend, 
as  attached  to  him  and  as  constant  in  his  atten- 
tions as  his  beloved  Constantini,  to  wit,  Giam- 
battista  Manso,  Marquis  of  Villa,  who  became 
his  biographer,  and  who  was  visited  and  praised 
for  his  good  offices  by  Milton.  In  the  society 
of  this  gentleman  he  seemed  for  a  short  while 
to  have  become  a  new  man.  He  entered  into 
field  sports,  listened  to  songs  and  music,  nay, 
danced,  says  Manso,  with  "the  girls."  (One 
fancies  a  poetical  Dr.  Johnson  with  the  two 
country  damsels  on  his  knees.)  In  short,  good 
air  and  freedom,  and  no  medicine,  had  con- 
spired with  the  lessons  of  disappointment  to 
give  him,  before  he  died,  a  glimpse  of  the  power 
to  be  pleased.  He  had  not  got  rid  of  all  his 
spiritual  illusions,  even  those  of  a  melancholy 
nature  ;  but  he  took  the  latter  more  quietly,  and 
had  grown  so  comfortable  with  the  race  in  gen- 
eral, that  he  encouraged  them.  He  was  so  en- 
tirely freed  from  his  fears  of  the  Inquisition  and 
of  charges  of  magic,  that  whereas  he  had  for- 
merly been  anxious   to  show  that   he  meant 


56  ^orquato  Zneeo 

notliitig  but  a  poetical  fancy  by  the  spirit  which 
he  introduced  as  communing  with  him  in  his 
dialogue  entitled  the  "Messenger,"  he  now 
maintained  its  reality  against  the  arguments  of 
his  friend  Manso ;  and  these  arguments  gave 
rise  to  the  most  poetical  scene  in  his  history. 
He  told  Manso  that  he  should  have  ocular  tes- 
timony of  the  spirit's  existence  ;  and  accord- 
ingly one  day  while  they  were  sitting  together 
at  the  marquis'  fireside,  "he  turned  his  eyes," 
says  Manso,  "  towards  a  window,  and  held  them 
a  long  time  so  intensely  on  it,  that,  when  I 
called  him,  he  did  not  answer.  At  last,  'Be- 
hold,' said  he,  'the  friendly  spirit  which  has 
courteously  come  to  talk  with  me.  I^ift  up 
your  eyes  and  see  the  truth. '  I  turned  my  eyes 
thither  immediately  (continues  the  marquis) ; 
but  though  I  endeavored  to  look  as  keenly  as  I 
could,  I  beheld  nothing  but  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
which  streamed  through  the  panes  of  the 
window  into  the  chamber.  Whilst  I  still  looked 
around,  without  beholding  any  object,  Tor- 
quato  began  to  hold,  with  this  unknown  some- 
thing, a  most  lofty  converse.  I  heard,  indeed, 
and  saw  nothing  but  himself ;  nevertheless  his 
words,  at  one  time  questioning,  at  another  re- 
plying, were  such  as  take  place  between  those 
who  reason  strictly  on  some  important  subject. 
And  from  what  was  said  by  the  one,  the  reply 


^orquato  ^aeso  57 

of  the  other  might  be  easily  comprehended  by 
the  intellect,  although  it  was  not  heard  by  the 
ear.  The  discom-ses  were  so  lofty  and  mar- 
vellous, both  by  the  sublimity  of  their  topics 
and  a  certain  unwonted  manner  of  talking,  that, 
exalted  above  myself  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  I  did 
not  dare  to  interrupt  them,  nor  ask  Tasso  about 
the  spirit,  which  he  had  announced  to  me,  but 
which  I  did  not  see.  In  this  way,  while  I  lis- 
tened between  stupefaction  and  rapture,  a  con- 
siderable time  had  elapsed ;  till  at  last  the  spirit 
departed,  as  I  learned  from  the  words  of  Tor- 
quato  ;  who,  turning  to  me,  said,  '  From  this 
day  forward  all  your  doubts  will  have  vanished 
from  your  mind.'  'Nay,'  said  I,  'they  are 
rather  increased ;  since,  though  I  have  heard 
many  things  worthy  of  marvel,  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  what  you  promised  to  show  me  to 
dispel  them.'     He  smiled,  and  said,   '  You  have 

seen  and  heard  more  of  him  than  perhaps ,' 

and  here  he  paused.  Fearful  of  importuning 
him  with  new  questions,  the  discourse  ended ; 
and  the  only  conclusion  I  can  draw  is,  what  I 
before  said,  that  it  is  more  likely  his  visions  or 
frenzies  will  disorder  my  own  mind  than  that 
I  shall  extirpate  his  true  or  imaginary  opin- 
ion."* 

Did  the  "  smile  "  of  Tasso  at  the  close  of  this 
*  Black,  vol.  ii.,  p.  240. 


58  ^orquato  Z^660 

extraordinary  scene,  and  the  words  which  he 
omitted  to  add,  signify  that  his  friend  had  seen 
and  heard  more,  perhaps,  than  the  poet  would 
have  liked  to  explain  ?  Did  he  mean  that  he 
himself  alone  had  been  seen  and  heard,  and  was 
author  of  the  whole  dialogue  ?  Perhaps  he  did  ; 
for  credulity  itself  can  impose — can  take  pleas- 
ure in  seeing  others  as  credulous  itself.  On  the 
other  hand,  enough  has  become  known  in  our 
days  of  the  phenomena  of  morbid  perception, 
to  render  Tasso's  actual  belief  in  such  visions 
not  at  all  surprising.  It  is  not  uncommon  for 
the  sanest  people  of  delicate  organization  to  see 
faces  before  them  while  going  to  sleep,  some- 
times in  fantastical  succession.  A  stronger 
exercise  of  this  disposition  in  temperaments 
more  delicate  will  enlarge  the  face  to  figure  ; 
and  there  can  be  no  question  that  an  imagina- 
tion so  heated  as  Tasso's,  so  full  of  the  specula- 
tions of  the  later  Platonists,  and  accompanied  by 
a  state  of  body  so  "  nervous,"  and  a  will  so  bent 
on  its  fancies,  might  embody  whatever  he  chose 
to  behold.  The  dialogue  he  could  as  easily 
read  in  the  vision's  looks,  whether  he  heard  it 
or  not  with  ears.  If  Nicholay,  the  Prussian 
bookseller,  who  saw  crowds  of  spiritual  people 
go  through  his  rooms,  had  been  a  poet,  and 
possessed  of  as  wilful  an  imagination  as  Tasso, 
he  might  have  gifted  them  all  with  speaking 


tTorquato  tTasso  59 

countenances  as  easily  as  with  coats  and  waist- 
coats. Swedenborg  founded  a  religion  on  this 
morbid  faculty  ;  and  the  Catholics  worship  a 
hundred  stories  of  the  like  sort  in  the  lives  of  the 
Saints,  many  of  which  are  equally  true  and  false; 
false  in  reality,  though  true  in  supposition, 
lyuther  himself  wrote  and  studied  till  he  saw  the 
Devil ;  only  the  great  reformer  retained  enough 
of  his  naturally  sturdy  health  and  judgment  to 
throw  an  inkstand  at  Satan's  head, — a  thing 
that  philosophy  has  been  doing  ever  since. 

Tasso's  principal  residence  while  at  Naples 
had  been  in  the  beautiful  monastery  of  Mount 
Olivet,  on  which  the  good  monks  begged  he 
would  write  them  a  poem  ;  which  he  did.  A 
cold  reception  at  Rome,  and  perhaps  the  differ- 
ence of  the  air,  brought  back  his  old  lamenta- 
tions ;  but  here  again  a  monastery  gave  him 
refuge,  and  he  set  himself  down  to  correct  his 
former  works  and  compose  new  ones.  He 
missed,  however,  the  comforts  of  society  and 
amusement  which  he  had  experienced  at  Naples. 
Nevertheless,  he  did  not  return  thither.  He 
persuaded  himself  that  it  was  necessary  to  be  in 
Rome  in  order  to  expedite  the  receipt  of  some 
books  and  manuscripts  from  Bergamo  and  other 
places  ;  but  his  restlessness  desired  novelty.  He 
thus  slipped  back  from  the  neighborhood  of 
Rome  to  the  city  itself,  and  from  the  city  back 


6o  C^orquato  tTassd 

to  the  monastery,  his  friends  in  both  places  be- 
ing probably  tired  of  his  instability.  He  thought 
of  returning  to  Mantua  ;  but  a  present  from  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  accompanied  by  an 
invitation  to  his  court,  drew  him,  in  one  of  his 
short-lived  transports,  to  Florence.  He  returned, 
in  spite  of  the  best  and  most  generous  recep- 
tion, to  Rome  ;  then  left  Rome  for  Mantua,  on 
invitation  from  his  ever-kind  deliverer  from 
prison,  now  the  reigning  duke ;  tired  again,  even 
of  him  ;  returned  to  Rome  ;  then  once  more  to 
Naples,  where  the  Prince  of  Conca,  Grand  Ad- 
miral of  the  kingdom,  lodged  and  treated  him 
like  an  equal ;  but  he  grew  suspicious  of  the 
admiral,  and  went  to  live  with  his  friend  Manso; 
quitted  Manso  for  Rome  again  ;  was  treated 
with  reverence  on  the  way,  like  Ariosto,  by  a 
famous  leader  of  banditti ;  was  received  at  Rome 
into  the  Vatican  itself,  in  the  apartments  of 
his  friend  Cintio  Aldobrandino,  nephew  of  the 
new  Pope  Clement  the  Bighth,  where  his  hopes 
now  seemed  to  be  raised  at  once  to  their  highest 
and  most  reasonable  pitch  ;  but  fell  ill,  and  was 
obliged  to  go  back  to  Naples  for  the  benefit  of 
the  air.  A  life  so  strangely  erratic  to  the  last 
(for  mortal  illness  was  approaching)  is  perhaps 
unique  in  the  history  of  men  of  letters,  and 
might  be  therefore  worth  recording  even  in  that 
of  a  less  man  than  Tasso  ;  but  when  we  recol- 


trorquato  XLneso  6i 

lect  that  this  poet,  in  spite  of  all  his  weaknesses, 
and  notwithstanding  the  enemies  they  pro- 
voked and  the  friends  they  cooled,  was  really 
almost  adored  for  his  genius  in  his  own  time, 
and  instead  of  refusing  jewels  one  day  and  so- 
liciting a  ducat  the  next,  might  have  settled 
down  almost  anywhere  in  quiet  and  glory,  if  he 
had  but  possessed  the  patience  to  do  so, — it  be- 
comes an  association  of  weakness  with  power, 
and  of  adversity  with  the  means  of  prosperity, 
the  absurdity  of  which  admiration  itself  can 
only  drown  in  pity. 

He  now  took  up  his  abode  in  another  monas- 
tery, that  of  San  Severino,  where  he  was  com- 
forted by  the  visits  of  his  friend  Manso,  to 
whom  he  had  lately  inscribed  a  dialogue  on 
"  Friendship  "  ;  for  he  continued  writing  to  the 
last.  He  had  also  the  consolation,  such  as  it 
was,  of  having  the  lawsuit  for  his  mother's 
dowry  settled  in  his  favor,  though  under  cir- 
cumstances that  rendered  it  of  little  import- 
ance, and  only  three  months  before  his  death. 
So  strangely  did  Fortune  seem  to  take  delight 
in  sporting  with  a  man  of  genius,  who  had 
thought  both  too  much  of  her  and  too  little  ;  too 
much  for  pomp's  sake,  and  too  little  in  pru- 
dence. Among  his  new  acquaintances  were  the 
young  Marino,  afterwards  the  corrupter  of  Ital- 
ian poetry,  and  the  Prince  of  Venosa,  an  ama- 


62  tTorquato  ^asso 

teur  composer  of  music.  The  dying  poet  wrote 
madrigals  for  him  so  much  to  his  satisfaction, 
that,  being  about  to  marry  into  the  house  of 
Kste,  he  wished  to  reconcile  him  with  the  Duke 
of  Ferrara  ;  and  Tasso,  who  to  the  last  moment 
of  his  life  seems  never  to  have  been  able  to  re- 
sist the  chance  of  resuming  old  quarters,  appar- 
ently from  the  double  temptation  of  renouncing 
them,  wrote  his  old  master  a  letter  full  of  re- 
spects and  regrets.  But  the  duke,  who  himself 
died  in  the  course  of  the  year,  was  not  to  be 
moved  from  his  silence.  The  poet  had  given 
him  the  last  possible  offence  by  recasting  his 
"Jerusalem,"  omitting  the  glories  of  the  house 
of  Bste,  and  dedicating  it  to  another  patron. 
Alfonso,  who  had  been  extravagantly  magnifi- 
cent, though  not  to  poets,  had  so  weakened  his 
government,  that  the  Pope  wrested  Ferrara 
from  the  hands  of  his  successor,  and  reduced 
the  Este  family  to  the  possession  of  Modena, 
which  it  still  holds  and  dishonors.  The  duke 
and  the  poet  were  thus  fading  away  at  the  same 
time ;  they  never  met  again  in  this  world  ;  and 
a  new  Dante  would  have  divided  them  far 
enough  in  the  nexf^ 

*  The  world  in  general  have  taken  no  notice  of  Tasso's 
reconstruction  of  his  "Jerusalem,"  which  he  called  the 
" Gerusalemme  Couquistata."  It  never  "obtained,"  as 
the  phrase  is.  It  was  a  mere  tribute  of  his  declining 
years  to  bigotry  and  new  acquaintances  ;  and  therefore 
I  say  no  more  of  it. 


tTorauato  tLasso  63 

The  last  glimpse  of  honor  and  glory  was  now 
opening  in  a  very  grand  manner  on  the  poet — 
the  last  and  the  greatest,  as  if  on  purpose  to  give 
the  climax  to  his  disappointments.  Cardinal 
Cintio  requested  the  Pope  to  give  him  the 
honor  of  a  coronation.  It  had  been  desired 
by  the  poet,  it  seems,  three  years  before.  He 
was  disappointed  of  it  at  that  time  ;  and  now 
that  it  was  granted,  he  was  disappointed  of  the 
ceremony.  Manso  says  he  no  longer  cared  for  it ; 
and,  as  he  felt  himself  dying,  this  is  not  improb- 
able. Nevertheless  he  went  to  Rome  for  the 
purpose  ;  and  though  the  severity  of  the  winter 
there  delayed  the  intention  till  spring,  wealth 
and  honors  seemed  determined  to  come  in  floods 
upon  the  poor  expiring  great  man,  in  order  to 
take  away  the  breath  which  they  had  refused  to 
support.  The  Pope  assigned  him  a  yearly  pen- 
sion of  a  hundred  scudi ;  and  the  withholders  of 
his  mother's  dowry  came  to  an  accommodation 
by  which  he  was  to  have  an  annuity  of  a  hun- 
dred ducats,  and  a  considerable  sum  in  hand. 
His  hand  was  losing  strength  enough  to  close 
upon  the  money.  Scarcely  was  the  day  for  the 
coronation  about  to  dawn,  when  the  poet  felt 
his  dissolution  approaching.  Alfonso's  doctors 
had  killed  him  at  last  by  superinducing  a  habit 
of  medicine-taking,  which  defeated  its  purpose. 
He  requested  leave  to  return  to  the  monastery 


64  tlotquato  tTasso 

of  St.  Onofrio — wrote  a  farewell  letter  to  Con- 
stantini — received  the  distinguished  honor  of  a 
plenary  indulgence  from  the  Pope — said  (in  terms 
very  like  what  Milton  might  have  used,  had  he 
died  a  Catholic),  that  **this  was  the  chariot 
upon  which  he  hoped  to  go  crowned,  not  with 
laurel  as  a  poet  into  the  capitol,  but  with  glory 
as  a  saint  to  heaven  " — and  expired  on  the  25th 
of  April,  1595,  and  the  fifty-first  5'ear  of  his  age, 
closely  embracing  the  crucifix,  and  imperfectly 
uttering  the  sentence  beginning,  "Into  th^^ 
hands,  O  Lord  !  "* 

Even  after  death,  success  mocked  him  ;  for 
the  coronation  took  place  on  the  senseless  dead 
body.  The  head  was  wreathed  with  laurel ;  a 
magnificent  toga  delayed  for  awhile  the  shroud  ; 
and  a  procession  took  place  through  the  city  by 
torchlight,  all  the  inhabitants  pouring  forth  to 
behold  it,  and  painters  crowding  over  the  bier 
to  gaze  on  the  poet's  lineaments,  from  which 
they  produced  a  multitude  of  portraits.  The 
corpse  was  then  buried  in  the  church  of  St. 
Onofrio  ;  and  magnificent  monuments  talked 
of,  which  never  appeared.  Manso,  however, 
obtained  leave  to  set  up  a  modest  tablet ;  and 
eight  years  afterwards  a  Ferrarese  cardinal 
(Bevilacqua)  made  what  amends  he  could  for 

*  "  In  manus  tuas  Domine. ' '  One  likes  to  know  the  act- 
ual words  ;  at  least  so  it  appears  to  me. 


G^orquato  ^asso  65 

his  countrymen,  by  erecting  the  stately  memo- 
rial which  is  still  to  be  seen. 

Poor,  illustrious  Tasso  !  weak  enough  to  war- 
rant pity  from  his  inferiors — great  enough  to 
overshadow  in  death  his  once-fancied  superiors. 
He  has  been  a  by-word  for  the  misfortunes  of 
genius  ;  but  genius  was  not  his  misfortune  ;  it 
was  his  only  good,  and  might  have  brought  him 
all  happiness.  It  is  the  want  of  genius,  as  far 
as  it  goes,  and  apart  from  martyrdoms  for  con- 
science' sake,  which  produces  misfortunes  even 
to  genius  itself — the  want  of  as  much  wit  and 
balance  on  the  common  side  of  things,  as  genius 
is  supposed  to  confine  to  the  uncommon. 

Manso  has  left  a  minute  account  of  his  friend's 
person  and  manners.  He  was  tall,  even  among 
the  tall ;  had  a  pale  complexion,  sunken  cheeks, 
lightish  brown  hair,  head  bald  at  the  top,  large 
blue  eyes,  square  forehead,  big  nose  inclining 
towards  the  mouth,  lips  pale  and  thin,  white 
teeth,  delicate  white  hands,  long  arms,  broad 
chest  and  shoulders,  legs  rather  strong  than  fleshy 
and  the  body  altogether  better  proportioned  than 
in  good  condition  ;  the  result,  nevertheless,  being 
an  aspect  of  manly  beauty  and  expression,  par- 
ticularly in  the  countenance,  the  dignity  of 
which  marked  him  for  an  extraordinary  person 
even  to  those  who  did  not  know  him.  His 
demeanor  was  grave  and  deliberate ;  he  laughed 


66  ^orquato  Zneso 

seldom  ;  and  though  his  tongue  was  prompt,  his 
delivery  was  slow  ;  and  he  was  accustomed  to 
repeat  his  last  words.  He  was  an  expert  in 
all  manly  exercises,  but  not  equally  graceful ; 
and  the  same  defect  attended  his  otherwise  strik- 
ing eloquence  in  public  assemblies.  His  putting 
to  flight  the  assassins  in  Ferrara  gave  him  such 
a  reputation  for  courage,  that  there  went  about 
in  his  honor  a  popular  couplet : 

"  Colla  penna  e  colla  spada 
Nessum  val  quanto  Torquato."  ' 

For  the  sword  as  well  as  pen 
Tasso  is  the  man  of  men. 

He  was  a  little  eater,  but  not  averse  to  wine, 
particularly  such  as  combined  piquancy  with 
sweetness  ;  and  he  always  dressed  in  black. 

Manso's  account  is  still  more  particular,  and 
yet  it  does  not  tell  all ;  for  Tasso  himself  informs 
us  that  he  stammered,  and  was  near-sighted  *  ; 
and  a  Neapolitan  writer  who  knew  him  adds  to 
the  near-sightedness  some  visible  defect  in  the 
eyes.f     I  should  doubt,  from  what  Tasso  says 

*  Serassi,  ii.,  276. 

f  "  Quern,  cerms,  quisquis  es,  procera  statura  virum, 
luscts  oculis,  etc.  hie  Torquatus  est."— Cappacio,  "  Illus- 
trium  I,iteris  Virorum  Elogia  et  Judicia,"  quoted  by  Se- 
rassi, ut  sup.  The  L,atin  word  luscus,  as  well  as  the 
Italian  Iosco,  means,  I  believe,  near-sighted  ;  but  it  cer- 
tainly means  also  a  great  deal  more  ;  and  unless  the 
word  cernis  (thou  beholdst)  is  a  mere  form  of  speech 
implying  a  foregone  conclusion,  it  shows  that  the  defect 
was  obvious  to  the  spectator, 


tTorquato  tTasso  67 

in  his  letters,  whether  he  was  fond  of  speaking 
in  public,  notwithstanding  his  debut  in  that  line 
with  the  "Fifty  Amorous  Conclusions."  Nor 
does  he  appear  to  have  been  remarkable  for  his 
conversation.  Manso  has  left  a  collection  of 
one  hundred  of  his  pithy  sayings — a  suspicious 
amount,  and  unfortunately  more  than  warrant- 
ing the  suspicion  ;  for  almost  every  one  of  them 
is  traceable  to  some  other  man.  They  come 
from  the  Greek  and  Latin  philosophers,  and 
the  apothegms  of  Erasmus.  The  two  follow- 
ing have  the  greatest  appearance  of  being 
genuine  : 

A  Greek,  complaining  that  he  had  spoken  ill 
of  his  country,  and  maintaining  that  all  the 
virtues  in  the  world  had  issued  out  of  it,  the 
poet  assented  ;  with  the  addition,  that  they  had 
not  left  one  behind  them. 

A  foolish  young  fellow,  garnished  with  a  num- 
ber of  golden  chains,  coming  into  a  room  where 
he  was,  and  being  overheard  by  him  exclaiming, 
"  Is  this  the  great  man  that  was  mad  ?  "  Tasso 
said,  "Yes;  but  that  people  had  never  put  on 
him  more  than  one  chain  at  a  time." 

His  character  may  be  gathered,  but  not  per- 
haps entirely,  from  what  has  been  written  of 
his  life  ;  for  some  of  his  earlier  letters  show  him 
to  have  been  not  quite  so  grave  and  refined  in 
his  way  of  talking  as  readers  of  the  "Jerusalem" 


68  c:orauato  tiasso 

might  suppose.  He  was  probably,  at  that  time 
of  life  not  so  scrupulous  in  his  morals  as  he  pro- 
fessed to  be  during  the  greater  part  of  it.  His 
mother  is  thought  to  have  died  of  chagrin  and 
impatience  at  being  separated  so  long  from  her 
husband,  and  not  knowing  what  to  do  to  save 
her  dowry  from  her  brothers  ;  and  I  take  her 
son  to  have  combined  his  mother's  ultra-sensi- 
tive organization  with  his  father's  worldly  im- 
prudence and  unequal  spirits.  The  addition  of 
the  nervous  temperament  of  one  parent  to  the 
aspiring  nature  of  the  other  gave  rise  to  the 
poet's  trembling  eagerness  for  distinction  ;  and 
Torquato's  very  love  for  them  both  hindered 
him  from  seeing  what  should  have  been  cor- 
rected in  the  infirmities  which  he  inherited. 
Falling  from  the  highest  hopes  of  prosperity 
into  the  most  painful  afiiictions,  he  thus  wanted 
solid  principles  of  action  to  support  him,  and 
was  forced  to  retreat  upon  an  excess  of  self- 
esteem,  which  allowed  his  pride  to  become 
a  beggar,  and  his  naturally  kind,  loving,  just, 
and  heroical  disposition  to  condescend  to  almost 
every  species  of  inconsistency.  The  Duke  of 
Ferrara,  he  complains,  did  not  believe  a  word 
he  said^  ;  and  the  fact  is,  that,  partly  from  dis- 
ease, and  partly  from  a  want  of  courage  to  look 

*  "II  Signer  Duca  non  crede  ad  alcuna  mia  parola," 
— "  Opere,"  xiv.,  j6i. 


TTorauato  Zaeeo  69 

his  defects  in  the  face,  he  beheld  the  same  things 
in  so  many  diJSferent  lights,  and  according  as  it 
suited  him  at  the  moment,  that,  without  intend- 
ing falsehood,  his  statements  are  really  not  to 
be  relied  on.  He  degraded  even  his  verses, 
sometimes  with  panegyrics  for  interest's  sake, 
sometimes  out  of  weak  wishes  to  oblige,  of 
which  he  was  afterwards  ashamed  ;  and,  with 
the  exception  of  Constantini,  we  cannot  be  sure 
that  any  one  person  praised  in  them  retained 
his  regard  in  his  last  days.  His  suspicion  made 
him  a  kind  of  Rousseau ;  but  he  was  more  amia- 
ble than  the  Genevese,  and  far  from  being  in  the 
habit  of  talking  against  old  acquaintances,  what- 
ever he  might  have  thought  of  them.  It  is  ob- 
servable, not  only  that  he  never  married,  but  he 
told  Manso  he  had  led  a  life  of  entire  continence 
ever  since  he  had  entered  the  walls  of  his  prison, 
being  then  in  his  thirty-fifth  year.*  Was  this 
out  of  fidelity  to  some  mistress  ?  or  the  conse- 
quence of  a  previous  life  the  reverse  of  conti- 
nent ?  or  was  it  from  some  principle  of  super- 
stition ?  He  had  become  a  devotee,  apparently 
out  of  a  dread  of  disbelief;  and  he  remained 
extremely  religious  for  the  rest  of  his   days. 

*  "  Fui  da  bocca  di  lui  medesimo  rassicurato,  che  dal 
tempo  del  suo  ritegno  in  sant'  Anna,  ch'  avenne  negli 
anni  trentacinque  della  sua  vita  e  sedici  avanti  la  mortej 
egli  intieramente  fu  casto  :  degli  anni  primi  non  mi 
favelld  mai  di  modo  ch'  io  possa  alcuna  cpsa  di  certo  qui 
raccontare."— "  Opere,"  xxxiii.,  235, 


70  ^orquato  ZTaseo 

The  two  unhappiest  of  Italian  poets,  Tasso  and 
Dante,  were  the  two  most  superstitious. 

As  for  the  once  formidable  question  concern- 
ing the  comparative  merits  of  this  poet  and 
Ariosto,  which  anticipated  the  modern  quarrels 
of  the  classical  and  romantic  schools,  some  idea 
of  the  treatment  which  Tasso  experienced  may 
be  conceived  by  supposing  all  that  used  to  be 
sarcastic  and  bitter  in  the  periodical  party  criti- 
cism among  ourselves  some  thirty  years  back 
collected  into  one  huge  vial  of  wrath,  and 
poured  upon  the  new  poet's  head.  Even  the 
great  Galileo,  who  was  a  man  of  wit,  bred  up  in 
the  pure  Tuscan  school  of  Bemi  and  Casa,  and 
who  was  an  idolater  of  Ariosto,  wrote,  when  he 
was  young,  a  "review"  of  the  "Jerusalem  De- 
livered, ' '  which  it  is  painful  to  read,  it  is  so  un- 
just and  contemptuous.*  But  now  that  the 
only  final  arbiter,  posterity,  has  accepted  both 
the  poets,  the  dispute  is  surely  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  to  settle  ;  not,  indeed,  with  preju- 
dices of  creeds  or  temperaments,  but  before  any 
judges  thoroughly  sympathizing  with  the  two 
claimants.  Its  solution  is  the  principle  of  the 
greater  including  the  less.  For  Ariosto  errs 
by  having  an  unbounded  circle  to  move  in. 
His  sympathies  are  unlimited  ;  and  those  who 

*Itis  to  be  found  in  the  collected  works,  ut  supra,  both 
of  the  philosopher  and  the  poet. 


think  him  inferior  to  Tasso  only  do  so  in  conse- 
quence of  their  own  want  of  sympathy  with  the 
vivacities  that  degrade  him  in  their  eyes.  Ari- 
osto  can  be  as  grave  and  exalted  as  Tasso  when 
he  pleases,  and  he  could  do  a  hundred  things 
which  Tasso  never  attempted.  He  is  as  differ- 
ent in  this  respect  as  Shakespeare  from  Milton. 
He  had  far  more  knowledge  of  mankind  than 
Tasso,  and  he  was  superior  in  point  of  taste. 
But  it  is  painful  to  make  disadvantageous  com- 
parisons of  one  great  poet  with  another.  Let 
us  be  thankful  for  Tasso' s  enchanted  gardens, 
without  being  forced  to  vindicate  the  universal 
world  of  his  predecessor.  Suffice  it  to  bear  in 
mind  that  the  grave  poet  himself  agreed  with 
the  rest  of  the  Italians  in  calling  the  Ferrarese 
the  "divine  Ariosto,"  a  title  which  has  never 
been  popularly  given  to  his  rival. 

The  "Jerusalem  Delivered  "  is  the  history  of 
a  Crusade  related  with  poetic  license.  The  Infi- 
dels are  assisted  by  unlawful  arts  ;  and  the  lib- 
ertinism that  brought  scandal  on  the  Christians 
is  converted  into  youthful  susceptibility,  led 
away  by  enchantment.  The  author  proposed 
to  combine  the  ancient  epic  poets  with  Ariosto, 
or  a  simple  plot  and  uniformly  dignified  style, 
with  romantic  varieties  of  adventure,  and  the 
luxuriance  of  fairy-land.  He  did  what  he  pro- 
posed to  do,  but  with  a  judgment  inferior  to 


72  ^orquato  XLaeso 

Virgil's ;  nay,  in  point  of  the  interdependence 
of  the  adventures,  to  Ariosto  and  with  far  less 
general  vigor.  The  mixture  of  affectation  with 
his  dignity  is  so  frequent  that,  whether  Boil- 
eau's  famous  line  about  Tasso's  tinsel  and  Vir- 
gil's gold  did  or  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  the 
"Jerusalem"  was  nothing  but  tinsel  and  the 
**-<^neid"  all  gold,  it  is  certain  that  the  tinsel 
is  so  interwoven  with  the  gold  as  to  render  it 
more  of  a  rule  than  an  exception,  and  put  a 
provoking  distance  between  Tasso's  epic  pre* 
tensions  and  those  of  the  greatest  masters  of 
the  art.  People  who  take  for  granted  the  con- 
ceits because  of  the  **  wildness  "  of  Ariosto,  and 
the  good  taste  because  of  the  "regularity"  of 
Tasso,  just  assimie  the  reverse  of  the  fact.  It  is 
a  rare  thing  to  find  a  conceit  in  Ariosto ;  and, 
where  it  does  exist,  it  is  most  likely  defensible 
on  some  Shakespearian  ground  of  subtle  pro- 
priety. Open  Tasso  in  almost  any  part,  partic- 
ularly the  love  scenes,  and  it  is  marvellous  if, 
before  long,  you  do  not  see  the  conceits  vexa- 
tiously  interfering  with  the  beauties. 

"Oh,  maraviglia  !    Amor,  che  appena  ^  nato, 
Gia  grande  vola,  e  giel  trionfa  armato. '  '—Canto  i. ,  st.  47. 

O  miracle  !    l/jve  is  scarce  born,  when,  lo, 
He  flies  full  wing'd,  and  lords  it  with  his  bow  ! 

"  Se  '1  miri  fulminar  ne  I'arme  awolto, 
Marte  lo  stimi  ;  Amor,  se  scopre  il  volto."— St.  58, 


^orquato  Z^eeo  73 

Mars  you  would  think  him  when  his  thund'ring  race 
In  arms  he  ran  ;  I^ve,  when  he  show'd  his  face. 

Which  is  as  little  true  to  reason  as  to  taste  ;  for 
no  god  of  war  could  look  like  a  god  of  love. 
The  habit  of  mind  would  render  it  impossible. 
But  the  poet  found  the  prettiness  of  the  Greek 
anthology  irresistible. 

Olindo,  tied  to  the  stake  amidst  the  flames  of 
martyrdom,  can  say  to  his  mistress  : 

"Altre  fiamme,  altri  nodi  amor  promise."— Canto  ii., 
St.  34- 

Other  flames,  other  bonds  than  these,  love  promised. 

The  sentiment  is  natural,  but  the  double  use  of 
the  "flames "  on  such  an  occasion  miserable. 

In  the  third  canto  the  fair  Amazon  Clorinda 
challenges  her  love  to  single  combat. 

"  E  di  due  morti  in  un  pun  to  lo  sfida." — St.  23. 

"  And  so  at  once  she  threatens  to  kill  him  twice." 

—Fairfax. 

That  is  to  say,  with  her  valor  and  beauty. 

Another  twofold  employment  of  flame,  with 
an  exclamation  to  secure  our  astonishment, 
makes  its  appearance  in  the  fourth  canto  : 

"  Oh  miracol  d'amor  !  che  le  faville 
Tragge  del  pianto,  e  i  cor'  ne  1'  acqua  accende."— St.  76. 


74  ^orauato  tiasso 

O  miracle  of  love  !  that  draweth  sparks 

Of  fire  from  tears,  and  kindlest  hearts  in  water ! 

This  puerile  antithesis  of  fire  and  water,  fire 
and  ice,  light  in  darkness,  silence  in  speech,  to- 
gether with  such  pretty  turns  as  woii7idi7ig  one's 
self  in  wounding  others,  and  the  worse  sacrifice 
of  consistency  and  truth  of  feeling, — lovers 
making  long  speeches  on  the  least  fitting  occa- 
sions, and  ladies  retaining  their  rosy  cheeks 
in  the  midst  of  fears  of  death, — is  to  be  met 
with,  more  or  less,  throughout  the  poem.  I 
have  no  doubt  they  were  the  proximate  cause 
of  that  general  corruption  of  taste  which  was 
afterwards  completed  by  Marino,  the  acquaint- 
ance and  ardent  admirer  of  Tasso  when  a  boy. 
They  have  been  laid  to  the  charge  of  Petrarch ; 
bnt,  without  entering  into  the  question  how  far 
and  in  what  instances  conceits  may  not  be  nat- 
ural to  lovers  haunted,  as  Petrarch  was,  with 
one  idea,  and  seeing  it  in  every  thing  they  be- 
hold, what  had  the  great  epic  poet  to  do  with 
the  faults  of  the  lyrical  ?  And  what  is  to  be 
said  for  his  standing  in  need  of  the  excuse  of 
bad  example  ?  Homer  and  Milton  were  in  no 
such  want.  Virgil  would  not  have  copied  the 
tricks  of  Ovid.  There  is  an  effeminancy  and 
self-reflection  in  Tasso,  analogous  to  his  "  Ri- 
naldo,"  in  the  enchanted  garden,  where  the 
hero  wore  a  looking-glass  by  his  side,  in  which 


tTorquato  XLaeso  75 

he  contemplated  his  sophisticated  self,  and  the 
meretricious  beauty  of  his  enchantress.* 

Agreeable  to  this  tendency  to  weakness,  the 
style  of  Tasso,  when  not  supported  by  great  oc- 
casions (and  the  occasion  itself  sometimes  fails 
him),  is  too  apt  to  fall  into  tameness  and  com- 
monplace,— to  want  movement  and  picture  ; 
while  at  the  same  time,  with  singular  defect  of 
enjoyment,  it  does  not  possess  the  music  which 
might  be  expected  from  a  lyrical  and  voluptuous 
poet.  Bernardo  prophesied  of  his  son  that, 
however  he  might  surpass  him  in  other  respects, 
he  would  never  equal  him  in  sweetness  ;  and  he 
seems  to  have  judged  him  rightly.  I  have  met 
with  a  passage  in  Torquato's  prose  writings 
(but  I  cannot  lay  my  hands  on  it),  in  which  he 
expresses  a  singular  predilection  for  verses  full 
of  the  same  vowel.  He  seems,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  to  have  regarded  it,  not  merely  as  a 
pleasing  variety,  which  it  is  on  occasion,  but  as 
a  reigning  principle.  Voltaire  (I  think  in  his 
treatise  on  "  Epic  Poetry  ")  has  noticed  the  mul- 
titude of  o's  in  the  exordium  of  the  **  Jerusa- 


*It  is  an  extraordinary  instance  of  a  man's  violating, 
in  older  life,  the  better  critical  principles  of  his  youth,— 
that  Tasso,  in  his  "  Discourses  on  Poetry,"  should  have 
objected  to  a  passage  in  Ariosto  about  sighs  and  tears 
as  being  a  "conceit  too  lyrical"  (though  it  was  war- 
ranted by  the  subtleties  of  madness),  and  yet  after- 
wards riot  in  the  same  conceits  when  wholly  without 
warrant. 


76  tTorauato  ^asso 

lem."    This  apparent  negligence  seems  to  have 
been  intentional. 


Cant6  r  armi  pictose  e  '1  capitano 
Che  '1  gran  Sepolcr6  liberd  di  Crist6  ; 

M61t5  egli  6pr6  col  senno  e  c6n  la  man6, 
M61t6  s6fri  nel  glorioso  acquist6  ; 

^  invan  1'  infern6  a  lui  s'  oppose  ;  e  invand 
S'  arm6  d'  Asia  e  di  I^ibia  il  p6p61  inist6  ; 

Che  il  ciel  gli  die  favore,  e  s6tt5  ai  santi 

Segni  ridusse  i  su6i  c6mpagni  erranti." 


The  reader  will  not  be  surprised  to  find,  that  he 
who  could  thus  confound  monotony  with  music, 
and  commence  his  greatest  poem  with  it,  is  too 
often  discordant  in  the  rest  of  his  versification. 
It  has  been  thought  that  Milton  might  have 
taken  from  the  Italians  the  grand  musical 
account  to  which  he  turns  a  list  of  proper 
names,  as  in  his  enumerations  of  realms  and 
deities  ;  but  I  have  been  surprised  to  find  how 
little  the  most  musical  of  languages  appears  to 
have  suggested  to  its  poets  any  thing  of  the  sort. 
I  am  not  aware  of  it,  indeed,  in  any  poets  but 
our  own.  All  others,  from  Homer,  with  his 
catalogue  of  leaders  and  ships,  down  to  Meta- 
stasio  himself,  though  he  wrote  for  music, 
appear  to  have  overlooked  this  opportunity 
of  playing  a  voluntary  of  fine  sounds,  where 
they  had  no  other  theme  on  which  to  modulate. 


Uorauato  XTasao  77 

Its  inventor,  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  is  that  great 
poet,  Marlowe.* 

There  are  faults  of  invention,  as  well  as  style 
in  the  **  Jerusalem."   The  Talking  Bird,  or  bird 

*  AapSaviitiv  avr'  rjpxev,  eOs  /cai?  Ayx'-O'c-o, 
Aivetas'  TOf  vn'  Ayx"''??  Teiie  Si  A</)po5iT7j 
IStjs  ev  Kvr}fjLOi.crL,  6ea  /SpoTw  eufrj^etcra" 
OvK  0105*  aju.a  Tcove  Svm  AvTTjvopos  vie, 
ApxiAoxos  t',  Afca/iAas  re,  /xax^S  ev  eiSore  Tracn)?. 
—"Iliad"  ii.,  8iq. 
It  is  curious  that  these  five  lines  should  abound  as 
much  in  a's  as  Tasso's  first  stanza  does  in  o's.    Similar 
monotonies  are  strikingly  observable  in  the  nomencla- 
tures of  Virgil.    See  his  most  perfect  poem,  the  "  Geor- 
gics": 

"  Omnia  secum 
'Armentarius  "Afer  agit,  tectumque,  L^remque, 
'Armaque,  'Amyclseumque  canem,  Cressamque  phare- 

tram." — I^ib.  iii.,  343. 
It  is  clear  that  Dante  never  thought  of  this  point.  See 
his  Mangiadore,  Sanvittore,  Natan,  Raban,  etc.  at  the 
end  of  the  twelfth  canto  of  the  "  Paradiso."  Yet  in  his 
time  poetry  vpas  recitatived  to  music.  So  it  was  in  Pe- 
trarch's, who  was  a  lutenist,  and  who  "tried  "his  verses, 
to  see  how  they  would  go  to  the  instrument.  Yet  Pe- 
trarch could  allow  himself  to  write  such  a  quatrain  as 
the  following  list  of  rivers  : 

"  Non  Tesin,  P6,  Varo,  Arno,  Adige  e  Tebro, 
Eufrate,  Tigre,  Nilo,  Ermo,  Indo  e  Gauge, 
Tana,  Istro,  Alfeo,  Garrona  &  '1  mar  che  frange, 
Rodano,  Ibero,  Ren,  Senna,  Albia,  Era,  Ebro  !  " 
In    Tasso's  "Sette  Giornate,"  to  which  Black  thinks 
Milton  indebted  for  his  grand  use  of  proper  names,  the 
following  is  the  way  in  which  the  poet  writes  : 

"  Di  Silv^ni 
Di  P^ni,  e  d'  Egipani,  e  d'  Mtri  erranti, 
Ch'  empier  Id  solitarie  incultd  selvd 
D'  antichd  maraviglid  ;  e  quell'  acc61t6 
Esercitd  di  Baccd  in  6riente 
Ond'  egli  vinse,  e  trionfo  degl'  Indi, 
Tomand5  gl6ri6s6  ai  Greci  lidi, 
Siccom'  favi616s6  antico  grido." 
The  most  diversified  passage  of  this  kind  (as  far  as  I  am 


78  ^orauato  ^a06O 

that  sings  with  a  human  voice  (canto  iv.,  13)  is 
a  piece  of  inverisimilitude,  which  the  author, 
perhaps,  thought  justifiable  by  the  speaking 
horses  of  the  ancients.  But  the  latter  were 
moved  supernaturally  for  the  occasion,  and  for 
a  very  fine  occasion.  Tasso's  bird  is  a  mere 
born  contradiction  to  nature  and  for  no  neces- 
sity. The  vulgar  idea  of  the  devil  with  horns 
and  a  tail  (though  the  retention  of  it  argued  a 
genius  in  Tasso  very  inferior  to  that  of  Milton) 
is  defensible,  I  think,  on  the  plea  of  the  German 
critics,  that  malignity  should  be  made  a  thing 

aware)  is  Ariosto's  list  of  his  friends  at  the  close  of  the 
"  Orlando;  and  yet  such  writing  as  follows  would  seem 
to  show  that  it  was  an  accident : 

"  16  veggid  il  Fracastoro,  il  Bevazzan6, 
Trif  6n  Gabriel,  e  il  Tasso  piii  lontand  ; 
Vegg6  Nicc616  Tiepoli,  e  con  esso 
Nicc615  Amanid  in  me  affissar  le  ciglia  ; 
Aut6n  Fulgoso,  ch'  a  vedermi  appress6 
Al  litd  mostra  gaudio  e  maraviglia. 
II  mio  Valeri6  e  quel  che  la  s'  e  messo 
Fu6r  de  le  donne,"  etc. 
Even  Metastasio,  who  wrote    expressly  for  singers, 
and  often  with  exquisite  modulation,  especially  in  his 
songs,  forgets  himself  when  he  comes  to  the  names  of 
his  dramatis  personcB, — "  Artaserse,  'Aratbano,  Arbace, 
Mand^ne,  Semira,  Megabise,"— all  in  one  play. 
"  Gran  cose  io  temo.    II  mio  germano  "Arbice 
P^rte  pri^  de  1'  aurora.     II  pMre  arm^to 
Incontro,  e  non  mi  parlS..     'Accuse  il  cielo 
'Agitato  "Artaserse,  e  m'  ^bbandona."— 

Atto  i.,  sc.  6. 
I  am  far  from  intending  to  say  that  these  reiterations  are 
not  sometimes  allowable,  nay,  often  beautiful  and  desira- 
ble. Alliteration  itself  may  be  rendered  an  exquisite  in- 
strument of  music.  I  am  only  speaking  of  monotony  or 
discord  in  the  enumeration  of  proper  names. 


C^orquato  Znsso  79 

low  and  deformed  ;  but  as  much  cannot  be  said 
for  the  storehouse  in  heaven,  where  St.  Mi- 
chael's spear  is  kept  with  which  he  slew  the 
dragon,  and  the  trident  which  is  used  for  mak- 
ing earthquakes  (canto  vii.,  st.  8i).  The  tomb 
which  supematurally  comes  out  of  the  ground, 
inscribed  with  the  name  and  virtues  of  Sueno 
(canto  viii.,  st.  39),  is  worthy  only  of  a  panto- 
mime ;  and  the  wizard  in  robes,  wnth  beech- 
leaves  on  his  head,  who  walks  dry-shod  on 
water,  and  superfluously  helps  the  knights  on 
their  way  to  Armida's  retirement  (xiv.,  33),  is 
almost  as  ludicrous  as  the  burlesque  of  the 
river-god  in  the  '*  Voyage"  of  Bachaumont 
and  Chapelle. 

But  let  us  not  wonder,  nevertheless,  at  the 
effect  which  the  "Jerusalem  "  has  had  upon  the 
world.  It  could  not  have  had  it  without  great 
nature  and  power.  Rinaldo,  in  spite  of  his 
aberrations  with  Armida,  knew  the  path  to  re- 
nown, and  so  did  the  poet.  Tasso's  epic,  with 
all  its  faults,  is  a  noble  production,  and  just- 
ly considered  one  of  the  poems  of  the  world. 
Each  of  those  poems  hit  some  one  great  point 
of  universal  attraction,  at  least  in  their  respec- 
tive countries  ;  and  among  the  givers  of  fame 
in  others.  Homer's  poem  is  that  of  action  ; 
Dante's  of  passion  ;  Virgil's,  of  judgment ;  Mil- 
ton's, of  religion;  Spenser's,  of  poetry  itself; 


8o  ^orquato  ^3000 

Ariosto's,  of  animal  spirits  (I  do  not  mean  as 
respects  gayety  only,  but  in  strength  and  readi- 
ness of  accord  with  the  whole  play  of  nature); 
Tasso  looked  round  with  an  ultra-sensitive-tem- 
perament, and  an  ambition  which  required  en- 
couragement, and  his  poem  is  that  of  tender- 
ness. Every  thing  inclines  to  this  point  in  his 
circle,  with  the  tremulousness  of  the  needle, 
lyove  is  its  all  in  all,  even  to  the  design  of  the 
religious  war  which  is  to  rescue  the  sepulchre 
of  the  God  of  Charity  from  the  hands  of  the' 
unloving.  His  heroes  are  all  in  love,  at  least 
those  on  the  right  side  ;  his  leader,  Godfrey, 
notwithstanding  his  prudence,  narrowly  escapes 
the  passion,  and  is  full  of  a  loving  considera- 
tion ;  his  amazon,  Clorinda,  inspires  the  truest 
passion,  and  dies  taking  her  lover's  hand ;  his 
Erminia  is  all  love  for  an  enemy  ;  his  enchant- 
ress Armida  falls  from  pretended  love  into  real, 
and  forsakes  her  religion  for  its  sake.  An  old 
father  (canto  ix.)  loses  his  five  sons  in  battle,  and 
dies  on  their  dead  bodies  of  a  wound  which  he  has 
provoked  on  purpose.  Tancred  cannot  achieve 
the  enterprise  of  the  Enchanted  Forest,  because 
his  dead  mistress  seems  to  come  out  of  one  of 
the  trees.  Olindo  thinks  it  happiness  to  be 
martyred  at  the  same  stake  with  Sophronia. 
The  reconciliation  of  Rinaldo  with  his  enchan- 
tress takes  place  within  a  few  stanzas  of  the  close 


trorquato  XTaeso  8i 

of  the  poem,  as  if  contesting  its  interest  with 
religion.  The  "Jerusalem  Delivered,"  in  short, 
is  the  favorite  epic  of  the  young :  all  the  lovers 
in  Europe  have  loved  it.  The  French  have  for- 
given the  author  his  conceits  for  the  sake  of  his 
gallantry  :  he  is  the  poet  of  the  gondoliers  ;  and 
Spenser,  the  most  luxurious  of  his  brethren, 
plundered  his  bowers  of  bliss.  Read  Tasso's 
poem  by  this  gentle  light  of  his  genius,  and  you 
pity  him  twenty-fold,  and  know  not  what  excuse 
to  find  for  his  jailer. 

The  stories  translated  in  the  present  volume, 
though  including  war  and  magic,  are  all  love- 
stories.  They  were  not  selected  on  that  account. 
They  suggested  themselves  for  selection,  as  con- 
taining most  of  the  finest  things  in  the  poem. 
They  are  conducted  with  great  art,  and  the  char- 
acters and  affections  happily  varied.  The  first 
( '  *  Olindo  "  and  "  Sophronia  " )  is  perhaps  unique 
for  the  hopelessness  of  its  commencement  (I 
mean  with  regard  to  the  lovers),  and  the  perfect, 
and  at  the  same  time  quite  probable,  felicity  of 
the  conclusion.  There  is  no  reason  to  believe 
that  the  staid  and  devout  Sophronia  would  have 
loved  her  adorer  at  all,  but  for  the  circumstance 
that  first  dooms  them  both  to  a  shocking  death, 
and  then  sends  them,  with  perfect  warrant,  from 
the  stake  to  the  altar.  Clorinda  is  an  Amazon, 
the  idea  of  whom,  as  such,  it  is  impossible  for 


82  trorquato  ^asso 

us  to  separate  from  the  very  repulsive  and  un- 
feminine  images  ;  yet,  under  the  circumstances 
of  the  story,  we  call  to  mind  in  her  behalf  the 
possibility  of  a  Joan  of  Arc's  having  loved  and 
been  beloved  ;  and  her  death  is  a  surprising 
and  most  affecting  variation  upon  that  of  Agri- 
can  in  Boiardo.  Tasso's  enchantress  Armida  is 
a  variation  of  the  Angelica  of  the  same  poet, 
combined  with  Ariosto's  Alcina  ;  but  her  pas- 
sionate voluptuousness  makes  her  quite  a  new 
character  in  regard  to  the  one  ;  and  she  is  as  dif- 
ferent from  the  painted  hag  of  the  "  Orlando  " 
as  youth,  beauty,  and  patriotic  intentions  can 
make  her.  She  is  not  very  sentimental  ;  but  all 
the  passion  in  the  world  has  sympathized  with 
her  ;  and  it  was  manly  and  honest  in  the  poet 
not  to  let  her  Paganism  and  vehemence  hinder 
him  from  doing  justice  to  her  claims  as  a  human 
being  and  a  deserted  woman.  Her  fate  is  left  in 
so  pleasing  a  state  of  doubt,  that  we  gladly  avail 
ourselves  of  it  to  suppose  her  married  to  Rinal- 
do,  and  becoming  the  mother  of  a  line  of  Chris- 
tian princes.  I  wish  they  had  treated  her  poet 
half  so  well  as  she  would  infallibly  have  treated 
him  herself. 

But  the  singer  of  the  Crusades  can  be  strong 
as  well  as  gentle.  You  discern  in  his  battles 
and  single  combats  the  poet  ambitious  of  re- 
nown, and  the  accomplished  swordsman.     The 


XCorquato  ^asso  83 

duel  of  Tancred  and  Argantes,  in  which  the 
latter  is  slain,  is  as  earnest  and  fiery  writing 
throughout  as  truth  and  passion  could  desire  ; 
that  of  Tancred  and  Clorinda  is  also  very  power- 
ful as  well  as  affecting  ;  and  the  whole  siege  of 
Jerusalem  is  admirable  for  the  strength  of  its 
interest.  Every  body  knows  the  grand  verse 
(not,  however,  quite  original)  that  summons 
the  devils  to  council,  "  Chinama  gli  abitator," 
etc. ;  and  the  still  grander,  though  less  original 
one,  describing  the  desolations  of  time,  "  Giace 
r  alta  Cartago."  The  forest  filled  with  super- 
natural terrors  by  a  magician,  in  order  that  the 
Christians  may  not  cut  wood  from  it  to  make 
their  engines  of  war,  is  one  of  the  happiest 
pieces  of  invention  in  romance.  It  is  founded 
in  as  true  human  feeling  as  those  of  Ariosto, 
and  is  made  an  admirable  instrument  for  the 
aggrandizement  of  the  character  of  Rinaldo. 
Godfrey's  attestation  of  all  time,  and  of  the 
host  of  heaven,  when  he  addresses  his  army  in 
the  first  canto,  is  in  the  highest  spirit  of  epic 
magnificence.  So  is  the  appearance  of  the 
celestial  armies,  together  with  that  of  the  souls 
of  the  slain  Christian  warriors,  in  the  last  canto, 
where  they  issue  forth  in  the  air  to  assist  the 
entrance  into  the  conquered  city.  The  classical 
poets  are  turned  to  great  and  frequent  account 
throughout  the  poem  ;  and  yet  the  work  has  a 


84  ^orauato  ^asso 

strong  air  of  originality,  partly  owing  to  the 
subject,  partly  to  the  abundance  of  love-scenes, 
and  to  a  certain  compactness  in  the  treatment 
of  the  main  story,  notwithstanding  the  luxuri- 
ance of  the  episodes.  The  "Jerusalem  Deliv- 
ered "  is  stately,  well-ordered,  full  of  action  and 
character,  sometimes  sublime,  always  elegant, 
and  very  interesting — more  so,  I  think,  as  a 
whole,  and  in  a  popular  sense,  than  any  other 
story  in  verse,  not  excepting  the  "Odyssey." 
For  the  exquisite  domestic  attractiveness  of  the 
second  Homeric  poem  is  injured,  like  the  hero 
himself,  by  too  many  diversions  from  the  main 
point.  There  is  an  interest,  it  is  true,  in  that 
very  delay ;  but  we  become  too  much  used  to 
the  disappointment.  In  the  epic  of  Tasso  the 
reader  constantly  desires  to  learn  how  the 
success  of  the  enterprise  is  to  be  brought  about  ; 
and  he  scarcely  loses  sight  of  any  of  the  persons 
but  he  wishes  to  see  them  again.  Even  in  the 
love-scenes,  tender  and  absorbed  as  they  are, 
we  feel  that  the  heroes  are  fighters,  or  going 
to  fight.  When  you  are  introduced  to  Armida 
in  the  Bower  of  Bliss,  it  is  by  warriors  who 
come  to  take  her  lover  away  to  battle. 

One  of  the  reasons  why  Tasso  hurt  the  style 
of  his  poem  by  a  manner  too  lyrical  was,  that 
notwithstanding  its  deficiency  in  sweetness,  he 
was  one  of  the  profusest  lyrical  writers  of  his 


^orquato  ^asso  85 


nation,  and  always  having  his  feelings  turned 
in  upon  himself.  I  am  not  sufficiently  ac- 
quainted with  his  odes  and  sonnets  to  speak 
of  them  in  the  gross  ;  but  I  may  be  allowed  to 
express  my  belief  that  they  possess  a  great  deal 
of  fancy  and  feeling.  It  has  been  wondered 
how  he  could  write  so  many,  considering  the 
troubles  he  went  through ;  but  the  experience 
was  the  reason.  The  constant  succession  of 
hopes,  fears,  wants,  gratitudes,  loves,  and  the 
necessity  of  employing  his  imagination,  ac- 
counts for  all.  Some  of  his  sonnets,  such  as 
those  on  the  Countess  of  Scandiano's  lip  ("  Quel 
labbro,"  etc.) ;  the  one  to  Stigliano,  concluding 
with  the  affecting  mention  of  himself  and  his 
lost  harp ;  that  beginning 

"  lo  veggio  in  ciela  scintillarle  stelle," 

recur  to  my  mind  oftener  than  any  others  ex- 
cept Dante's  "Tanto  gentile"  and  Filicaia's 
"Lament  on  Italy"  ;  and  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  of  the  more  famous  odes  of  Petrarch, 
and  one  or  two  of  Filicaia's  and  Guidi's,  I  know 
of  none  in  Italian  like  several  of  Tasso's,  includ- 
ing his  fragment,  ''O  del  grand'  Apennino," 
and  the  exquisite  chorus  on  the  Golden  Age, 
which  struck  a  note  in  the  hearts  of  the  world. 
His  "Aminta,"  the  chief  pastoral  poem  of 
Italy,  though,  with  the  exception  of  that  ode, 


86  XTorquato  ^asso 

not  equal  in  passages  to  the  **  Faithful  Shep- 
herdess "  (which  is  a  Pan  to  it  compared  with  a 
beardless  shepherd),  is  elegant,  interesting,  and 
as  superior  to  Guarini's  more  sophisticate  yet 
still  beautiful  "  Pastor  Fido  "  as  a  first  thought 
may  be  supposed  to  be  to  its  emulator.  The 
objection  of  its  being  too  elegant  for  shepherds 
he  anticipated  and  nullified  by  making  Love 
himself  account  for  it  in  a  charming  prologue, 
of  which  the  god  is  the  speaker  : 


Queste  selve  oggi  raggionar  d'  Amore 

S'  udranno  in  nuova  guisa  ;  e  ben  parassi, 

Che  la  mia  Delta  sia  qui  presente 

In  se  medesma,  e  non  ne'  suoi  ministri. 

Spirero  nobil  sensi  k  rozzi  petti ; 

Raddolciro  nelle  lor  lingue  il  suono  : 

Perch^,  ovunque  i'  mi  sia,  io  sono  Amore 

Ne'  pastori  non  men  che  negli  eroi ; 

E  la  disagguaglianza  de'  soggetti, 

Come  a  me  place,  agguaglio  :  e  questa  e  pure 

Suprema  gloria,  e  gran  miracol  mio, 

Render  simili  alle  piii  dottl  cetre 

lyC  rustiche  sampogne." 

After  new  fashion  shall  these  woods  to-day 
Hear  love  discoursed  ;  and  it  shall  well  be  seen 
That  my  divinity  is  present  here 
In  its  own  person,  not  its  ministers. 
I  will  inbreathe  my  fancies  in  rude  hearts  ; 
I  will  refine  and  render  dulcet  sweet 
Their  tongues ;  because,  wherever  I  may  be 
Whether  with  rustic  or  heroic  men, 


G^orquato  (Taeso  87 

There  am  I  I^ove ;  and  inequality, 

As  it  may  please  me,  do  I  equalize ;. 

And  'tis  my  crowning- glory  and  great  miracle 

To  make  the  rural  pipe  as  eloquent 

Even  as  the  subtlest  harp. 

I  ought  not  to  speak  of  Tasso's  other  poetry, 
or  of  his  prose,  for  I  have  read  little  of  either ; 
though,  as  they  are  not  popular  with  his  coun- 
trymen, a  foreigner  may  be  pardoned  for  think- 
ing his  classical  tragedy,  "Torrismondo,"  not 
attractive,  his  "Sette  Giornate  "  (Seven  Days 
of  the  Creation)  still  less  so,  and  his  platonical 
and  critical  discourses  better  filled  with  author- 
ities than  reasons. 

Tasso  was  a  lesser  kind  of  Milton,  enchanted 
by  the  sirens.  We  discern  the  weak  parts  of 
his  character,  more  or  less,  in  all  his  writings  ; 
but  we  see  also  the  irrepressible  elegance  and 
superiority  of  the  mind,  which,  in  spite  of  all 
weakness,  was  felt  to  tower  above  its  age,  and 
to  draw  to  it  the  homage  as  well  as  the  resent- 
ment of  princes. 


ARIOSTO  : 

Criticai,  Notice  of  his  Life  and  Genius. 


CRITICAL  NOTICE  OF  ARIOSTO'S   LIFE 
AND  GENIUS.* 

THE  congenial  spirits  of  Pulci  and  Boiardo 
may  be  said  to  have  attained  to  their 
height  in  the  person  of  Ariosto  upon  the  prin- 
ciple of  a  transmigration  of  souls,  or  after  the 
fashion  of  that  hero  in  romance  who  was  heir 
to  the  bodily  strengths  of  all  whom  he  con- 
quered. 

Lodovico  Giovanni  Ariosto  was  born  on  the 
8th  of  September,  1474,  in  the  fortress  at  Reg- 
gio,  in  Lombardy,  and  was  the  son  of  Niccolo 

*The  materials  for  this  notice  have  been  chiefly  col- 
lected from,  the  poet's  own  writings  (rich  in  autobio- 
graphical intimation),  and  from  his  latest  editor,  Panizzi. 
I  was  unable  to  see  this  writer's  principal  authority, 
BaruflFaldi,  till  I  corrected  the  proofs  and  the  press  was 
waiting ;  otherwise  I  might  have  added  two  or  three 
more  particulars,  not,  however,  of  any  great  conse- 
quence. Panizzi  is,  as  usual,  copious  and  to  the  pur- 
pose, and  has,  for  the  first  time  I  believe,  critically 
proved  the  regularity  and  connectedness  ot  Ariosto's 
plots,  as  well  as  the  hoUowness  of  the  pretensions  of  the 
house  of  Este  to  be  considered  patrons  of  literature.  It 
is  only  a  pity  that  his  "  I^ife  of  Ariosto  "  is  not  better  ar- 
ranged. I  have,  of  course,  drawn  my  own  conclusions 
respecting  particulars,  and  sometimes  have  thought  I 
had  reason  to  diflfer  with  those  who  have  preceded  me, 
but  not,  I  hope,  with  a  presumption  unbecoming  a 
foreigner. 


92  XoDovico  Bcfosto 

Ariosto,  captain  of  that  citadel  (as  Boiardo  had 
been),  and  Dana  Maleguzzi,  whose  family  still 
exists.  The  race  was  transplanted  from  Bologna 
in  the  century  previous,  when  Obizzo  the  Third 
of  Bste,  Marquess  of  Ferrara,  married  a  lady 
belonging  to  it,  whose  Christian  name  was 
lyippa.  Niccolo  Ariosto,  besides  holding  the 
same  office  as  Boiardo  had  done  at  Modena 
as  well  as  at  Reggio,  was  master  of  the  house- 
hold to  his  two  successive  patrons,  the  Dukes 
Borso  and  Krcole.  He  was  also  employed,  like 
him,  in  diplomacy,  and  was  made  a  count  by 
the  Bmperor  Frederick  the  Third,  though  not, 
it  seems,  with  remainder  to  his  heirs. 

Ivodovico  was  the  eldest  of  ten  children,  five 
sons  and  five  daughters.  During  his  boyhood 
theatrical  entertainments  were  in  great  vogue 
at  court,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  life  of  Boiardo, 
and  at  the  age  of  twelve,  a  year  after  the  de- 
cease of  that  poet  (who  must  have  been  well 
known  to  him,  and  probably  encouraged  his 
attempts),  his  successor  is  understood  to  have 
dramatized,  after  his  infant  fashion,  the  story 
of  "Pyramus  and  Thisbe,"  and  to  have  got  his 
brothers  and  sisters  to  perform  it.  Panizzi 
doubts  the  possibility  of  these  precocious  pri- 
vate theatricals  ;  but  considering  what  is  called 
"writing"  on  the  part  of  children,  and  that 
only  one  other  performer  was  required  in  the 


piece,  or  at  best  a  third  for  the  lion  (which  some 
little  brother  might  have  ''roared  like  any 
sucking-dove"),  I  cannot  see  good  reason  for 
disbelieving  the  story.  Pope  was  not  twelve 
years  old  when  he  turned  the  siege  of  Troy  into 
a  play,  and  got  his  school-fellows  to  perform  it, 
the  part  of  Ajax  being  given  to  the  gardener. 
Man  is  a  theatrical  animal  {^(2ov  /ui/utjtihov), 
and  the  instinct  is  developed  at  a  very  early 
period,  as  almost  every  family  can  witness  that 
has  taken  its  children  to  the  "  playhouse." 

At  fifteen  the  young  poet,  like  so  many 
others  of  his  class,  was  consigned  to  the  study 
of  the  law,  and  took  a  great  dislike  to  it.  The 
extreme  nobility  of  his  nature,  and  the  wish  to 
please  his  father,  appear  to  have  made  him 
enter  on  it  willingly  enough  in  the  first  in- 
stance ;  *  but  as  soon  as  he  betrayed  symptoms 
of  disgust,  Niccolo,  whose  affairs  were  in  a  bad 
way,  drove  him  back  to  it  with  a  vehemence 
which  must  have  made  bad  worse,  f     At  the  ex- 

*  See  in  his  lyatin  poems  the  lines  beginning  : 
"  Haec  me  verbosas  suasit  perdiscere  leges." 

— "  De  Diversis  Amoribus." 
t "  Mio  padre  mi  caccio  con  spiedi  e  lancie,"  etc. 

— "  Satira,"  vi. 
There  is  some  appearance  of  contradiction  in  this 
passage  and  the  one  referred  to  in  the  preceding  note; 
but  I  think  the  conclusion  in  the  text  the  probable  one, 
and  that  he  was  not  compelled  to  study  the  law  in  the 
first  instance.  He  speaks  more  than  once  of  his  father's 
memory  with  great  tenderness,  particularly  in  the  lines 
on  his  death  entitled  "  De  Nicolao  Areosto." 


94  XoOovfco  BrloBto 

piration  of  five  years  he  was  allowed  to  give  it 
up. 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that  Ariosto  was 
"theatricalizing"  during  no  little  portion  of 
this  time,  for  in  his  nineteenth  year  he  is 
understood  to  have  been  taken  by  Duke  Brcole 
to  Pavia  and  to  Milan,  either  as  a  writer  or  per- 
former of  comedies,  probably  both,  since  the 
courtiers  and  ducal  family  themselves  occa- 
sionally appeared  on  the  stage,  and  one  of  the 
poet's  brothers  mentions  his  having  frequently 
seen  him  dressed  in  character,* 

On  being  delivered  from  the  study  of  the  law, 
the  young  poet  appears  to  have  led  a  cheerful 
and  unrestrained  life  for  the  next  four  or  five 
years.  He  wrote,  or  began  to  write,  the  comedy 
of  the  "Cassaria,"  probably  meditated  some 
poem  in  the  style  of  Boiardo,  then  in  the  height 
of  his  fame,  and  he  cultivated  the  Latin  lan- 
guage, and  intended  to  learn  Greek,  but  de- 
layed, and  unfortunately  missed  it  in  conse- 
quence of  losing  his  tutor.  Some  of  his  hap- 
piest days  were  passed  at  a  villa,  still  possessed 
by  the  Maleguzzi  family,  called  La  Mauriziana, 
two  miles  from  Reggio.  Twenty-five  years 
afterwards  he  called  to  mind,  with  sighs,  the 
pleasant  spots  there  which  used  to  invite  him 

*  His  brother  Gabriel  expressly  menlions  it  in  his  pro- 
logue to  the  "Scholastica." 


XoDovlco  Brlosto  q5 

to  write  verses  ;  the  garden,  the  little  river,  the 
mill,  the  trees  by  the  water-side,  and  all  the 
other  shady  places  in  which  he  enjoyed  himself 
during  that  sweet  season  of  his  life  ' '  betwixt 
April  and  May."*  To  complete  his  happiness, 
he  had  a  friend  and  cousin,  Pandolfo  Ariosto, 
who  loved  every  thing  that  he  loved,  and  for 
whom  he  augured  a  brilliant  reputation. 

But  a  dismal  cloud  was  approaching.  In  his 
twenty-first  year  he  lost  his  father,  and  found  a 
large  family  left  on  his  hands  in  narrow  cir- 
cumstances. The  charge  was  at  first  so  heavy, 
especially  when  aggravated  by  the  death  of 
Pandolfo,  that  he  tells  us  he  wished  to  die.  He 
took  to  it  manfully,  however,  in  spite  of  these 
fits  of  gloom,  and  he  lived  to  see  his  admirable 
efforts  rewarded ;  his  brothers  enabled  to  seek 
their  fortunes,  and  his  sisters  properly  taken 
care  of  Two  of  them,  it  seems,  had  become 
nuns.  A  third  married  ;  and  a  fourth  remained 
long  in  his  house.  It  is  not  known  what  be- 
came of  the  fifth. 

In  these  family  matters  the  anxious  son  and 
brother  was  occupied  for  three  or  four  years, 
not,  however,  without  recreating  himself  with 
his  verses,  Latin  and  Italian,  and  recording  his 
admiration  of  a  number  of  goddesses  of  his 
youth.  He  mentions,  in  particular,  one  of  the 
*  "  Gia  mi  fur  dolci  inviti,"  etc.—  "  Satira,"  v. 


96  3Lot)o\)ico  Briosto 

name  of  Lydia,  who  kept  him  often  from  "his 
dear  mother  and  household,"  and  who  is  prob- 
ably represented  by  the  princess  of  the  same 
name  in  the  "Orlando,"  punished  in  the  smoke 
of  Tartarus  for  being  a  jilt  and  coquette.*  His 
friend  Bembo,  afterwards  the  celebrated  cardi- 
nal, recommended  him  to  be  blind  to  such  lit- 
tle immaterial  points  as  ladies'  infidelities.  But 
he  is  shocked  at  the  advice.  He  was  far  more  of 
Othello's  opinion  than  Congreve's  in  such  mat- 
ters, and  declared  that  he  would  not  have 
shared   his    mistress'    good-will    with   Jupiter 

himself! 

Towards  the  year  1504  the  poet  entered  the 
service  of  the  unworthy  prince.   Cardinal   Ip- 
polito  of  Bste,  brother  of  the  new   Duke  of 
Ferrara,  Alfonso  the  First.    His  eminence,  who 
had  been  made  a  prince  of  the  church  at  thir- 
teen years  of  age  by  the  infamous  Alexander 
the   Sixth   (Borgia),   was  at  this   period  little 
more  than   one-and-twenty ;    but  he  took    an 
active  part  in  the  duke's  affairs,  both  civil  and 
military,  and  is  said  to  have  made  himself  con- 
spicuous in  his  father's  lifetime  for  his  vices 
and  brutality.      He  is   charged    with    having 
*  See  the  beginning  of ' '  Astofo's  Journey  to  the  Moon." 
t  "  Me  potius  fugiat,  nullis  mollita  querelis, 
Dum  simulet  reliquos  Ivydia  dura  procos. 
Parte  carere  omni  malo,  quam  admittere  quemquam 
In  Partem.    Cupiat  Juppiter  ipse,  negem." 

"AdPetrum  Benbum." 


XoOovico  Briosto  97 

ordered  a  papal  messenger  to  be  severely  beaten 
for  bringing  him  some  unpleasant  despatches, 
which  so  exasperated  his  unfortunate  parent 
that  he  was  exiled  to  Mantua,  and  the  mar- 
quess of  that  city,  his  brother-in-law,  was 
obliged  to  come  to  Ferrara  to  obtain  his  par- 
don. But  this  was  a  trifle  compared  with  what 
he  is  accused  of  having  done  to  one  of  his 
brothers.  A  female  of  their  acquaintance,  in 
answer  to  a  speech  made  her  by  the  reverend 
gallant,  had  been  so  unlucky  as  to  say  that  she 
preferred  his  brether  Giulio's  eyes  to  his  emi- 
nence's whole  body ;  upon  which  the  mon- 
strous villain  hired  two  ruffians  to  put  out  his 
brother's  eyes — some  say,  was  present  at  the 
attempt.  Attempt  only  it  fortunately  turned 
out  to  be, — at  least  in  part,  the  opinion  being 
that  the  sight  of  one  of  the  eyes  was  preserved.* 
Party  spirit  has  so  much  to  do  with  stories  of 
princes,  and  the  princes  are  so  little  in  a  condi- 
tion to  notice  them,  that,  on  the  principle  of 
not  condemning  a  man  till  he  has  been  heard  in 
his  defense,    an  honest  biographer  would  be 

*Panizzi,  on  the  authority  of  Guicciardini  and  others. 
Giulio  and  another  brother  (Ferrante)  afterwards  con- 
spired against  Alfonso  and  Ippolito,  and,  on  the  failure 
of  their  enterprise,  were  sentenced  to  be  imprisoned  for 
life.  Ferrante  died  in  confinement  at  the  expiration  of 
thirty-four  years  ;  Giulio,  at  the  end  of  fifty-three,  was 
pardoned.  He  came  out  of  prison  on  horseback,  dressed 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time  when  he  was  ar- 
rested, and  "  greatly  excited  the  curiosityof  the  people." 
— Idem,  vol  i.,  p.  12. 


98  XoDovico  Briosto 

loath  to  credit  these  horrors  of  Cardinal  Ippo- 
lito,  did  not  the  violent  nature  of  the  times,  and 
the  general  character  of  the  man,  even  with 
his  defenders,  incline  him  to  do  so.  His  being 
a  soldier  rather  than  a  churchman  was  a  fault 
of  the  age,  perhaps  a  credit  to  the  man,  for  he 
appears  to  have  had  abilities  for  war,  and  it  was 
no  crime  of  his  if  he  was  put  into  the  church 
when  a  boy.  But  his  conduct  to  Ariosto  showed 
him  coarse  and  selfish  ;  and  those  who  say  all 
they  can  for  him  admit  that  he  was  proud 
and  revengeful,  and  that  nobody  regretted  him 
when  he  died.  He  is  said  to  have  had  a  taste 
for  mathematics,  as  his  brother  had  for  me- 
chanics. The  truth  seems  to  be,  that  he  and 
the  duke,  who  lived  in  troubled  times,  and  had 
to  exert  all  their  strength  to  hinder  Ferrara 
from  becoming  a  prey  to  the  court  of  Rome, 
were  clever,  harsh  men,  of  no  grace  or  eleva- 
tion of  character,  and  with  no  taste  but  for  war ; 
and  if  it  had  not  been  for  their  connection  with 
Ariosto,  nobody  would  have  heard  of  them,  ex- 
cept while  perusing  the  annals  of  the  time,  Ip- 
polito  might  have  been,  and  probably  was,  the 
ruffian  which  the  anecdote  of  his  brother  Giulio 
represents  him  ;  but  the  world  would  have 
heard  little  of  the  villany,  had  he  not  treated  a 
poet  with  contempt. 

The  admirers  of  our  author  may  wonder  how 


XoDovico  Brf06to  99 

he  could  become  the  servant  of  such  a  man, 
much  more  how  he  could  praise  him  as  he  did 
in  the  great  work  which  he  was  soon  to  begin 
writing.  But  Ariosto  was  the  son  of  a  man  who 
had  passed  his  life  in  the  service  of  the  family ; 
he  had  probably  been  taught  a  loyal  blindness 
to  its  defects  ;  gratuitous  panegyrics  of  princes 
had  been  the  fashion  of  men  of  letters  since  the 
time  of  Augustus,  and  the  poet  wanted  help  for 
his  relatives,  and  was  of  a  nature  to  take  the 
least  show  of  favor  for  a  virtue  till  he  had 
learnt,  as  he  unfortunately  did,  to  be  disap- 
pointed in  the  substance.  It  is  not  known 
what  his  appointment  was  under  the  cardinal. 
Probably  he  was  a  kind  of  gentleman  of  all 
work  ;  an  officer  in  his  guards,  a  companion  to 
amuse,  and  a  confidential  agent  for  the  transac- 
tion of  business.  The  employment  in  which  he 
is  chiefly  seen  is  that  of  an  envoy,  but  he  is  said 
also  to  have  been  in  the  field  of  battle  ;  and  he 
intimates  in  his  "  Satires  "  that  household  at- 
tentions were  expected  of  him  which  he  was 
not  quick  to  offer,  such  as  pulling  off  his  emi- 
nence's boots,  and  putting  on  his  spurs.*  It  is 
certain  that  he  was  employed  in  very  delicate 
negotiations,  sometimes  to  the  risk  of  his  life 

*  "Che  debbo  fare  io  qui  ? 

Agli  usatti,  agli  spron  (perch  =  io  son  grande) 
Non  mi  posso  adattar,  per  porne  o  trarne." 
"  Satira."  ii. 


XoDovlco  Brf06to 


from  the  perils  of  roads  and  torrents.    Ippolito, 

who  was  a  man  of  no  delicacy,  probably  made 

use  of  him  on  every    occasion  that  required 

address,  the  smallest  as  well  as  greatest, — an 

interview  with  a  pope  one  day,  and  a  despatch 

to  a  dog  fancier  the  next. 

His  great  poem,  however,  proceeded.     It  was 

probably  begun  before  he  entered  the  cardinal's 

service  ;  certainly  was  in  progress  during  the 

early  part  of  his   engagement.     This   appears 

from  a  letter  written  to  Ippolito  by  his  sister, 

the  Marchioness  of  Mantua,  to  whom  he  had 

sent  Ariosto  at  the  beginning  of  the  year  1509 

to  congratulate  her  on  the  birth  of  a  child.  She 

gives  her  brother  special  thanks  for  sending  his 

message  to  her  by  "Messer  Ludovico  Ariosto," 

who  had  made  her,  she  says,  pass  two  delightful 

days,  with  giving  her  an  account  of  the  poem  he 

was  writing.*     Isabella  was  the  name  of  this 

princess ;  and  the  grateful  poet  did  not  forget  to 

embalm  it  in  his  verse,  f 

*  "  Per  la  lettera  de  la  S.  V.  Reverendiss.  et  a  bocha  da 
Ms.  lyudovico  Ariosto  ho  inteso  quanta  leticia  ha  con- 
ceputa  del  felice  perto  mio  :  il  che  mi  6  stato  sumtna- 
mente  grato,  cussi  lo  ringrazio  de  la  visitazione,  et 
particolarmente  di  havermi  mandato  il  dicto  Ms.  l,udo- 
vico,  per  che  ultra  che  mi  sia  stato  acetto,  representando 
la  persona  de  la  S.  V.  Reverendiss.  lui  anche  per  conto 
suo  mi  ha  addutta  gran  satisfazione,  havendomi  cum  la 
narratione  de  1'  opera  che  compone  facto  passar  questi 
due  giorni  non  solum  senza  fastidio,  ma  cum  piacer 
grandissimo."— Tiraboschi,  "  Storia  della  Poesia  Ital- 
lana,"  Matthias'  edition,  vol.  iii.,  p.  19^. 

t  "  Orlando  Furioso,"  canto  xxix.,  st.  29. 


XoDovfco  Briosto 


Ariosto's  latest  biographer,  Panizzi,  thinks 
he  never  served  under  any  other  leader  than  the 
cardinal ;  but  I  cannot  help  being  of  opinion 
with  a  former  one,  whom  he  quotes,  that  he 
once  took  arms  under  a  captain  of  the  name  of 
Pio,  probably  a  kinsman  of  his  friend  Alberto 
Pio,  to  whom  he  addresses  a  Latin  poem.  It 
was  probably  on  occasion  of  some  early  disgust 
with  the  cardinal ;  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  discover 
at  what  period  of  time.  Perhaps,  indeed,  he 
had  the  cardinal's  permission,  both  to  quit  his 
service,  and  return  to  it.  Possibly  he  was  not 
to  quit  it  at  all,  except  according  to  events ; 
but  merely  had  leave  given  him  to  join  a  party 
in  arms  who  were  furthering  Ippolito's  own  ob- 
jects. Italy  was  full  of  captains  in  arms  and 
conflicting  interests.  The  poet  might  even,  at 
some  period  of  his  life,  have  headed  a  troop  un- 
der another  cardinal,  his  friend  Giovanni  de' 
Medici,  afterwards  Leo  the  Tenth.  He  had  cer- 
tainly been  with  him  in  various  parts  of  Italy, 
and  might  have  taken  part  in  some  of  his  blood- 
less, if  not  his  most  military,  equitations. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  understood  that  Ariosto 
was  present  at  the  repulse  given  to  the  Vene- 
tians by  Ippolito  when  they  came  up  the  River 
Po  against  Ferrara  towards  the  close  of  the  year 
1509,  though  he  was  away  from  the  scene  of  ac- 
tion at  the  subsequent  capture  of  their  flotilla, 


XoDovlco  Briosto 


the  poet  having  been  despatched  between  the 
two  events  to  Pope  Julius  the  Second  on  the 
delicate  business  of  at  once  appeasing  his  anger 
with  the  duke  for  resisting  his  allies,  and  re- 
questing his  help  to  a  feudatary  of  the  church. 
Julius  was  in  one  of  his  towering  passions  at 
first,  but  gave  way  before  the  address  of  the 
envoy,  and  did  what  he  desired.  But  Ariosto's 
success  in  this  mission  was  nearly  being, the 
death  of  him  in  another,  for  Alfonso  having  ac- 
companied the  French,  the  year  following,  in 
their  attack  on  Vicenza,  where  they  commit- 
ted cruelties  of  the  same  horrible  kind  as  have 
shocked  Europe  within  a  few  months  past,*  the 
poet's  tongue,  it  was  thought  might  be  equally 
efficacious  a  second  time  ;  but  Julius,  worn  out 
of  patience  with  his  too  independent  vassal, 
who  maintained  an  alliance  with  the  French 
when  the  pope  had  ceased  to  desire  it,  was  to  be 
appeased  no  longer.  He  excommunicated  Al- 
fonso, and  threatened  to  pitch  his  envoy  into 
the  Tiber  ;  so  that  the  poet  was  fain  to  run  for 
it,  as  the  duke  himself  was  afterwards,  when  he 
visited  Rome  to  be  absolved.  Would  Julius 
have  thus  treated  Ariosto,  could  he  have 
foreseen  his  renown?  Probably  he  would. 
The  greater  the  opposition  to  the  will,  the 
*  See  the  horrible  account  of  the  suffocated  Vicentine 
Grottoes,  in  Sismondi,  "  Histoire  des  Republiques  Ltal- 
iennes,"  etc.,  vol.  iv.,  p.  48. 


3LoDov>lco  Briosto  103 

greater  the  will  itself.  To  chuck  an  accom- 
plished envoy  into  the  river  would  have  been 
much ;  but  to  chuck  the  immortal  poet  there, 
laurels  and  all,  in  the  teeth  of  the  amazement 
of  posterity,  would  have  been  a  temptation  irre- 
sistible. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  that  Ariosto,  probably 
from  inability  to  choose  his  times  or  modes  of 
returning  home,  contracted  a  cough,  which  is 
understood  to  have  shortened  his  existence  ;  so 
that  Julius  may  have  killed  him  after  all.  But 
the  pope  had  a  worse  enemy  in  his  own  bosom 
— his  violence — which  killed  him  in  a  much 
shorter  period.  He  died  in  little  more  than  two 
years  afterwards;  and  the  poet's  prospects  were 
all  now  of  a  very  different  sort — at  least  he 
thought  so  ;  for  in  March,  15 13,  his  friend  Gio- 
vanni de'  Medici  succeeded  to  the  papacy,  under 
the  title  of  Leo  the  Tenth. 

Ariosto  hastened  to  Rome,  among  a  shoal  of 
visitors  to  congratulate  the  new  pope,  perhaps 
not  without  a  commission  from  Alfonso  to  see 
what  he  could  do  for  his  native  country,  on 
which  the  rival  Medici  family  never  ceased  to 
have  designs.  The  poet  was  full  of  hope,  for  he 
had  known  Leo  under  various  fortunes;  had 
been  styled  by  him  not  only  a  friend,  but  a 
brother  ;  and  promised  all  sorts  of  participa- 
tions of  his  prosperity.    Not  one  of  them  came. 


104  ILoDovico  Briosto 

The  visitor  was  cordially  received.  Leo  stooped 
from  his  throne,  squeezed  his  hand,  and  kissed 
him  on  both  his  cheeks  ;  but  "at  night,"  says 
Ariosto,  ' '  I  went  all  the  way  to  the  Sheep  to 
get  my  supper,  wet  through."  All  that  Leo 
gave  him  was  a  "bull,"  probably  the  one  se- 
curing him  the  profits  of  his  "Orlando"  ;  and 
the  poet's  friend  Bibbiena — wit,  cardinal,  and 
kinsman  of  Berni — facilitated  the  bull,  but  the 
receiver  discharged  the  fees.  He  did  not  get 
one  penny  by  promise,  pope,  or  friend.*  He 
complains  a  little,  but  all  in  good  humor  ;  and 
good-naturedly  asks  what  he  was  to  expect, 
when  so  many  hungry  kinsmen  and  partisans 
were  to  be  served  first.  Well  and  wisely  asked, 
too,  and  with  a  superiority  to  his  fortunes 
which  Leo  and  Bibbiena  might  have  envied. 

It  is  thought  probable,  however,  that  if  the 
poet  had  been  less  a  friend  to  the  house  of  Este, 
Leo  would  have  kept  his  w^ord  with  him,  for 
their  intimacy  had  undoubtedly  been  of  the 
most  cordial  description.     But  it  is  supposed 

*  "  Piegossi  a  me  dalla  beata  sede  ; 
La  mano  e  poi  le  gote  ambe  mi  prese, 
E)  il  santo  bacio  in  amendue  mi  diede. 

"  Di  mezza  quella  bolla  anco  cortese 
Mi  fu,  della  quale  ora  il  tnio  Bibbiena 
Bspedito  m'  ha  il  resto  alle  mie  spese. 

"  Indi  col  seno  e  con  la  falda  piena 
De  speme,  ma  di  pioggia  molle  e  brutto, 
I^a  notte  andia  sin  al  Montone  a  cena." 
"  Satira,"  iv. 


Xot)Ovico  Briosto  105 

that  Leo  was  afraid  he  should  have  a  Ferrarese 
envoy  constantly  about  him,  had  he  detained 
Ariosto  in  Rome.  The  poet,  however,  it  is  ad- 
mitted, was  not  a  good  hunter  of  preferment. 
He  could  not  play  the  assenter,  and  bow  and 
importune  ;  and  sovereigns,  however  friendly 
they  may  have  been  before  their  elevation,  go 
the  way  of  most  princely  flesh  when  they  have 
attained  it.  They  like  to  take  out  a  man's 
gratitude  beforehand,  perhaps  because  they  feel 
little  security  in  it  afterwards. 

The  elevation  to  the  papacy  of  the  cheerful 
and  indulgent  son  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  after 
the  troublous  reign  of  Julius,  was  hailed  with 
delight  by  all  Christendom,  and  nowhere  more 
so  than  in  the  pope's  native  place,  Florence. 
Ariosto  went  there  to  see  the  spectacles  ;  and 
there,  in  the  midst  of  them,  he  found  himself 
robbed  of  his  heart  by  the  lady  whom  he  after- 
wards married.  Her  name  was  Alessandra 
Benucci.  She  was  the  widow  of  one  of  the 
Strozzi  family,  whom  he  had  known  in  Ferrara, 
and  he  had  long  admired  her.  The  poet,  who, 
like  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio,  has  recorded  the 
day  on  which  he  fell  in  love,  which  was  that  of 
St.  John  the  Baptist  (the  showy  saint-days  of 
the  south  offer  special  temptations  to  that  ef- 
fect), dwells  with  minute  fondness  on  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  lady's  appearance.     Her  dress 


io6  XoDovico  Bri06to 

■was  black  silk,  embroidered  with  two  grape- 
bearing  vines  intertwisted;  and  "between  her 
serene  forehead  and  the  path  that  went  dividing 
in  two  her  rich  and  golden  tresses,"  was  a  sprig 
of  laurel  in  bud.  Her  observer,  probably  her 
welcome  if  not  yet  accepted  lover,  beheld  some- 
thing very  significant  in  this  attire  ;  and  a 
mysterious  poem,  in  which  he  records  a  de\nce 
of  a  black  pen  feathered  with  gold,  which  he 
wore  embroidered  on  a  gown  of  his  own  has 
been  supposed  to  allude  to  it.  As  everybody  is 
tempted  to  make  his  guess  on  such  occasions,  I 
take  the  pen  to  have  been  the  black-haired  poet 
himself,  and  the  golden  feather  the  tresses  of 
the  lady.  Beautiful  as  he  describes  her,  with  a 
face  full  of  sweetness,  and  manners  noble  and 
engaging,  he  speaks  most  of  the  charms  of  her 
golden  locks.  The  black  gown  could  hardly 
have  implied  her  widowhood ;  the  allusion 
would  not  have  been  delicate.  The  vine  be- 
longs to  dramatic  poets,  among  whom  the  lover 
was  at  that  time  to  be  classed,  the  "  Orlando  " 
not  having  appeared.  Its  duplification  inti- 
mated another  self;  and  the  crowning  laurel 
was  the  success  that  awaited  the  heroic  poet 
and  the  conqueror  of  the  lady's  heart.* 


*  See  canzone  the  first,  "  Non  so  s'io  potr6,"  etc.  ;  and 
the  capitolo  beginning  "  Delia  mi  negra  penna  in  fregio 
d'  oro." 


XoDovfco  Briosto  107 

The  marriage  was  never  acknowledged.  The 
husband  was  in  the  receipt  of  profits  arising 
from  church-offices,  which  put  him  into  the 
condition  of  the  fellow  of  a  college  with  us,  who 
cannot  marry  so  long  as  he  retains  his  fellow- 
ship ;  but  it  is  proved  to  have  taken  place, 
though  the  date  of  it  is  uncertain.  Ariosto,  in 
a  satire  written  three  or  four  years  after  his  fall- 
ing in  love,  says  he  never  intends  either  to 
marry  or  to  take  orders  ;  because,  if  he  takes 
orders,  he  cannot  marry  ;  and  if  he  marries,  he 
cannot  take  orders — that  is  to  say,  must  give  up 
his  semi-priestly  emoluments.  This  is  one  of 
the  falsehoods  which  the  Roman  Catholic  reli- 
gion thinks  itself  warranted  in  tempting  honest 
men  to  fall  into  ;  thus  perplexing  their  faith  as 
to  the  very  roots  of  all  faith,  and  tending  to 
maintain  a  sensual  hypocrisy,  which  can  do  no 
good  to  the  strongest  minds,  and  must  terribly 
injure  the  weak. 

Ariosto's  love  for  this  lady  I  take  to  have 
been  one  of  the  causes  of  dissatisfaction  between 
him  and  the  cardinal.  "  Fortunately  for  the 
poet,"  as  Panizzi  observes,  Ippolito  was  not  al- 
ways in  Ferrara.  He  travelled  in  Italy,  and  he 
had  an  archbishopric  in  Hungary,  the  tenure 
of  which  compelled  occasional  residence.  His 
company  was  not  desired  in  Rome,  so  that  he 
was  seldom  there.     Ariosto,  however,  was  an 


loS  Xo^ovico  Brlosto 

amusing  companion ;  and  the  cardinal  seems 
not  to  have  liked  to  go  anywhere  without  him. 
In  the  year  15 15  he  was  attended  by  the  poet 
part  of  the  way  on  a  journey  to  Rome  and  Ur- 
bino  ;  but  Ariosto  fell  ill,  and  had  leave  to 
return.  He  confesses  that  his  illness  was  owing 
to  an  anxiety  of  love  ;  and  he  even  makes  an 
appeal  to  the  cardinal's  experience  of  such  feel- 
ings ;  so  that  it  might  seem  he  was  not  afraid 
of  Ippolito's  displeasure  in  that  direction.  But 
the  weakness  which  selfish  people  excuse  in 
themselves  becomes  a  " very  different  thing" 
(as  they  phrase  it)  in  another.  The  appeal  to 
the  cardinal's  experience  might  only  have  ex- 
asperated him,  in  its  assumption  of  the  identity 
of  the  case.  However,  the  poet  was,  at  all 
events,  left  this  time  to  the  indulgence  of  his 
love  and  his  poetry  ;  and  in  the  course  of  the 
ensuing  year  a  copy  of  the  first  edition  of  the 
"Orlando  Furioso,"  in  forty  cantos,  was  put 
into  the  hands  of  the  illustrious  person  to  whom 
it  was  dedicated. 

The  words  in  which  the  cardinal  was  pleased 
to  express  himself  on  this  occasion  have  become 
memorable.  "Where  the  devil.  Master  Lodo- 
vick,"  said  the  reverend  personage,  "  have  you 
picked  up  such  a  parcel  of  trumpery?"  The 
original  term  is  much  stronger,  aggravating  the 
insult  with  indecency.     There  is  no  equivalent 


XoDovlco  Briosto  109 

for  it  in  English ;  and  I  shall  not  repeat  it  in 
Italian.  "It  is  as  low  and  indecent,"  says 
Panizzi,  "as  any  in  the  language."  Suffice  it 
to  say  that,  although  the  age  was  not  scrupu- 
lous iu  such  matters,  it  was  one  of  the  last 
words  befitting  the  lips  of  the  reverend  Catho- 
lic ;  and  that,  when  Ippolito  of  Este  (as  Gin- 
gu^ne  observes)  made  that  speech  to  the 
great  poet,  "he  uttered — prince,  cardinal, 
and  mathematician  as  he  was — an  imperti- 
nence." * 

Was  the  cardinal  put  out  of  temper  by  a  de- 
vice which  appeared  in  this  book  ?  On  the 
leaf  succeeding  the  title-page  was  the  privilege 
for  its  publication,  granted  by  Leo  in  terms  of 
the  most  flattering  personal  recognition.!  So  far 
so  good  ;  unless  the  unpoetical  Este  patron  was 
not  pleased  to  see  such  interest  taken  in  the 
book  by  the  tasteful  Medici  patron.  But  on 
the  back  of  this  leaf  was  a  device  of  a  hive, 
with  the  bees  burnt  out  of  it  for  their  honey, 

*  "  Histoire  l,itt6raire,"  etc.,  vol.  iv.,  p.  335. 

t  "  Singularis  tua  et  pervetus  erga  nos  familiamque 
nostrum  observantia,  egregiaque  bonarum  artium  et  lit- 
terarum  doctrina,  atque  in  studiis  mitioribus,  praeser- 
timque  poetices  elegans  et  praeclarum  ingenium,  jure 
prope  sue  a  nobis  exposcere  videntur,  ut  quae  tibi  usui 
futurae  sint,  justa  praesertim  et  honesta  petenti,  ea  tibi 
liberaliter  et  gratiose  concedamus.  Quamobreni,"  etc. 
"  On  the  same  page,''  says  Panizzi,  "  are  mentioned  the 
privileges  granted  by  the  king  of  France,  by  the  repub- 
lic of  Venice,  and  other  potentates  "  ;  so  that  authors,  in 
those  days,  appear  to  have  been    thought  worthy  of 


XoDovico  Briosto 


and  their  motto  "Evil  for  good"  {Pro  bono 
malum).  Most  biographers  are  of  opinion  that 
this  device  was  aimed  at  the  cardinal's  ill  return 
for  all  the  sweet  words  lavished  on  him  and  his 
house.  If  so,  and  supposing  Ariosto  to  have 
presented  the  dedication  copy  in  person,  it 
would  have  been  curious  to  see  the  faces  of  the 
two  men  while  his  eminence  was  looking  at  it. 
Some  will  think  that  the  good-natured  poet 
could  hardly  have  taken  such  an  occasion  of  dis- 
playing his  resentment.  But  the  device  did  not 
express  at  whom  it  was  aimed ;  the  cardinal 
need  not  have  applied  it  to  himself  if  he  did  not 
choose,  especially  as  the  book  was  full  of  his 
praises  ;  and  good-natured  people  will  not  al- 
ways miss  an  opportunity  of  covertly  inflicting  a 
sting.  The  device,  at  all  events,  showed  that 
the  honey-maker  had  got  worse  than  nothing 
by  his  honey  ;  and  the  house  of  Bste  could 
not  say  they  had  done  any  thing  to  contradict 
it. 

I  think  it  probable  that  neither  the  poet's  de- 
profiting  by  their  labors,  wherever  they  contributed  to 
the  enjoyment  of  mankind. 

I,eo's  privilege  is  the  one  that  so  long  underwent  the 
singular  obloquy  of  being  a  bull  of  excommunication 
against  all  who  objected  to  the  poem  !  a  misconception 
on  the  part  of  some  ignorant  man,  or  misrepresentation 
by  some  malignant  one,  which  affords  a  remarkable 
warning  against  taking  things  on  trust  from  one  writer 
after  another.  Kven  Bayle  (see  the  article  "  I^eo  X."  in 
his  Dictionary)  suffered  his  inclinations  to  blind  his 
vigilance. 


XoDovlco  Uvioeto  m 

\dce  nor  the  cardinal's  speech  were  forgotten, 
when,  in  the  course  of  the  next  year,  the  par- 
ties came  to  a  rupture  in  consequence  of  the  ser- 
vant's refusing  to  attend  his  master  into  Hun- 
gary. Ariosto  excused  himself  on  account  of  the 
state  of  his  health  and  of  his  family.  He  said 
that  a  cold  climate  did  not  agree  with  him  ;  that 
his  chest  was  aflfected,  and  could  not  bear  even 
the  stoves  of  Hungary  ;  and  that  he  could  not, 
in  common  decency  and  humanity,  leave  his 
mother  in  her  old  age,  especially  as  all  the  rest 
of  the  family  were  away  but  his  youngest  sister, 
whose  interests  he  had  also  to  take  care  of.  But 
Ippolito  was  not  to  be  appeased.  The  public 
have  seen,  in  a  late  female  biography,  a  deplor- 
able instance  of  unfeelingness  with  which  even 
a  princess  with  a  reputation  for  religion  could 
treat  the  declining  health  and  unwilling  retire- 
ment of  a  poor  slave  in  her  service,  fifty  times 
her  superior  in  every  thing  but  servility. 
Greater  delicacy  was  not  to  be  expected  of  the 
military  priest.  The  nobler  the  servant,  the 
greater  the  desire  to  trample  upon  him  and  keep 
him  at  a  disadvantage.  It  is  a  grudge  which 
rank  owes  to  genius,  and  which  it  can  only  waive 
when  its  possessor  is  himself  "  one  of  God  Al- 
mighty's gentlemen,"  I  do  not  mean  in  point 
of  genius,  which  is  by  no  means  the  highest 
thing  in  the  world,  whatever  its  owners  may 


112  XoDovico  Brioato 

think  of  it ;  but  in  point  of  the  highest  of  all 
things,  which  is  nobleness  of  heart.  I  confess 
I  think  Ariosto  was  wrong  in  expecting  what  he 
did  of  a  man  he  must  have  known  so  well,  and 
in  complaining  so  much  of  courts,  however 
good-humoredly.  A  prince  occupies  the  station 
he  does,  to  avert  the  perils  of  disputed  succes- 
sions, and  not  to  be  what  his  birth  cannot  make 
him — if  nature  has  not  supplied  the  materials. 
Besides,  the  cardinal,  in  his  quality  of  a  mechan- 
ical-minded man  with  no  taste,  might  with  rea- 
son have  complained  of  his  servant's  attending 
to  poetry  when  it  was  "not  in  his  bond  ;  "  when 
it  diverted  from  the  only  attentions  which  his 
employer  understood  or  desired.  Ippolito  can- 
didly confessed,  as  Ariosto  himself  tells  us,  that 
he  not  only  did  not  care  for  poetry,  but  never 
gave  his  attendant  one  stiver  in  patronage  of  it, 
or  for  any  thing  whatsoever  but  going  his  jour- 
neys and  doing  as  he  was  bidden.*  On  the 
other  hand,  the  cardinal's  payments  were  sorry 
ones  ;  and  the  poet  might  with  justice  have 
thought,  that  he  was  not  bound  to  consider  them 
an  equivalent  for  the  time  he  was  expected  to 

*  "  Apollo,  tuatnerc^,  tua  merc^  santo 
Collegio  delle  Muse,  io  non  mi  trovo 
Tanto  per  voi,  ch'  io  possa  farmi  un  manto : 

"  E  se  '1  signer  m'  ha  dato  onde  far  novo, 
Ogni  anno  mi  potrei  piu  d'  un  mantello, 
Che  mi  abbia  per  voi  dato,  non  approve. 

Kglir  ha  detto."  "  Satira,"  ii. 


XOCJOViCO  Brf06t0  IT3 

give  up.  The  only  thing  to  have  been  desired 
in  this  case  was,  that  he  should  have  said  so  ; 
and,  in  truth,  at  the  close  of  the  explanation 
which  he  gave  on  the  subject  to  his  friends  at 
court,  he  did — boldly  desiring  them,  as  became 
him,  to  tell  the  cardinal,  that  if  his  eminence 
expected  him  to  be  a  "serf"  for  what  he 
received,  he  should  decline  the  bargain  ; 
and  that  he  preferred  the  humblest  free- 
dom and  his  studies  to  a  slavery  so  prepos- 
terous.* 

The  truth  is,  the  poet  should  have  attached  him- 
self wholly  to  the  Medici.  Had  he  not  adhered 
to  the  duller  house,  he  might  have  led  as  happy 
a  life  with  the  pope  as  Pulci  did  with  the  pope's 
father ;  perhaps  have  been  made  a  cardinal, 
like  his  friends  Bembo  and  Sadolet.  But  then 
we  might  have  lost  the  "Orlando." 

The  only  sinecure  which  the  poet  is  now  sup- 
posed to  have  retained,  was  a  grant  of  twenty- 
five  crowns  every  four  months  on  the  episcopal 
chancery  of  Milan  :  so,  to  help  out  his  petty 

*  "  Se  avermi  dato  onde  ogni  quattro  mesi 
Ho  venticinque  scudi,  n6  si  fermi, 
Che  molte  volte  non  mi  sien  contesi, 

"  Mi  debbe  incatenar,  schiavo  tenermi, 
Obbligarmi  ch'  io  sudi  e  tremi  senza 
Rispetto  alcum,  ch'  iomuoja  o  ch'  io  m'  infermi, 

"  Non  gli  lasciate  aver  questa  credenza  : 
Ditegli,  che  piu  tosto  ch'  esso  servo, 
Torr6la  povertade  in  pazienza."        "  Satira,"  ii. 


114  XoDovico  Brfosto 

income,  he  proceeded  to  enter  into  the  service 
of  Alfonso,  which  shows  that  both  the  brothers 
were  not  angry  with  him.  He  tells  us  that  he 
would  gladly  have  had  no  new  master,  could  he 
have  helped  it ;  but  that,  if  he  must  needs  serve, 
he  would  rather  serve  the  master  of  every  body 
else  than  a  subordinate  one.  At  this  juncture 
he  had  a  brief  prospect  of  being  as  free  as  he 
wished ;  for  an  uncle  died  leaving  a  large  landed 
property  still  known  as  the  Ariosto  lands  {Le 
Arioste)\  but  a  convent  demanded  it  on  the  part 
of  one  of  their  brotherhood,  who  was  a  natural 
son  of  this  gentleman  ;  and  a  more  formidable 
and  ultimately  successful  claim  was  advanced 
in  a  court  of  law  by  the  Chamber  of  the  Duchy 
of  Ferrara,  the  first  judge  in  the  cause  being  the 
duke's  own  steward  and  a  personal  enemy  of 
the  poet's.  Ariosto,  therefore,  while  the  suit  was 
going  on,  was  obliged  to  content  himself  with 
his  fees  from  Milan  and  a  monthly  allowance 
which  he  received  from  the  duke  of  "about 
thirty-eight  shillings,"  together  with  provisions 
for  three  servants  and  two  horses.  He  entered 
the  duke's  service  in  the  spring  of  1518,  and  re- 
mained in  it  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  But  it  was 
not  so  burdensome  as  that  of  the  cardinal ;  and 
the  consequence  of  the  poet's  greater  leisure  was 
a  second  edition  of  the  "  Furioso,"  in  the  year 
1521,  with  additions  and  corrections  ;  still,  how- 


ILoDovico  Brl06to  115 

ever,  in  forty  cantos  only.  It  appears,  by  a  deed 
of  agreement,*  that  the  work  was  printed  at  the 
author's  expense  ;  that  he  was  to  sell  the  book- 
seller one  hundred  copies  for  sixty  livres  (about 
5/.  12^.)  on  condition  of  the  book's  not  being 
sold  at  the  rate  of  more  than  sixteen  sous  {is. 
8d.);  that  the  author  was  not  to  give,  sell,  or 
allow  to  be  sold,  any  copy  of  the  book  at  Fer- 
rara,  except  by  the  bookseller  ;  that  the  book- 
seller, after  disposing  of  the  hundred  copies, 
was  to  have  as  many  more  as  he  chose  on  the 
same  terms  ;  and  that,  on  his  failing  to  require 
a  further  supply,  Ariosto  was  to  be  at  liberty  to 
sell  his  volumes  to  whom  he  pleased.  *'  With 
such  profits,"  observed  Panizzi,  "it  was  not 
likely  that  the  poet  would  soon  become  inde- 
pendent"  :  and  it  maybe  added,  that  he  cer- 
tainly got  nothing  by  the  first  edition,  whatever 
he  may  have  done  by  the  second.  He  expressly 
tells  us,  in  the  satire  which  he  wrote  on  declin- 
ing to  go  abroad  with  Ippolito,  that  all  his  poe- 
try had  not  procured  him  money  enough  to 
purchase  him  a  cloak,  f  Twenty  years  after- 
wards, when  he  was  dead,  the  poem  was  in  such 
request,  that,  between  1542  and  155 1,  Panizzi 
calculates  there  must  have  been  a  sale  of  it  in 

*  Panizzi,  vol.  i.,  p.  29.  The  agreement  itself  is  in  Ba- 
ruffaldi. 

t  Seethe  lines  before  quoted,  beginning  "  Apollo,  tua 
merc^." 


ii6  XoOovico  Briosto 

Europe  to  the  amount  of  a  hundred  thousand 
copies.* 

The  second  edition  of  the  * '  Furioso  ' '  did  not 
extricate  the  author  from  very  serious  difl&cul- 
ties  ;  for  the  next  year  he  was  compelled  to  ap- 
ply to  Alfonso,  either  to  relieve  him  from  his 
necessities,  or  permit  him  to  look  for  some  em- 
ployment more  profitable  than  the  ducal  ser- 
vice. The  answer  of  this  prince,  who  was  now 
rich,  but  had  always  been  penurious, -and  who 
never  laid  out  a  farthing,  if  he  could  help  it, 
except  in  defence  of  his  capital,  was  an  appoint- 
ment of  Ariosto  to  the  government  of  a  district 
in  a  state  of  anarchy,  called  Garfagnana,  which 
had  nominally  returned  to  his  rule  in  conse- 
quence of  the  death  of  lyco,  who  had  wrested  it 
from  him.  It  was  a  wild  spot  in  the  Apennines, 
on  the  borders  of  the  Ferrarese  and  papal  terri- 
tories. Ariosto  was  there  three  years,  and  is 
said  to  have  reduced  it  to  order  ;  but,  according 
to  his  own  account,  he  had  very  doubtful  work 
of  it.  The  place  was  overrun  with  banditti, 
including  the  troops  commissioned  to  suppress 
them.  It  required  a  severer  governor  than  he 
was  inclined  to  be  ;  and  Alfonso  did  not  attend 
to  his  requisitions  for  supplies.  The  candid  and 
good-natured    poet    intimates   that    the    duke 

*"  Bibliographical  Notices  of  Editions  of  Ariosto," 
prefixed  to  his  first  vol.,  p.  51. 


XoDovico  Briosto  117 

might  have  given  him  the  appointment  rather 
for  the  governor's  sake  than  the  people's  ;  and 
the  cold,  the  loneliness  and  barrenness  of  the 
place,  and,  above  all,  his  absence  from  the  ob- 
ject of  his  affections,  oppressed  him.  He  did 
not  write  a  verse  for  twelve  months  ;  he  says 
he  felt  like  a  bird  moulting.*  The  best  thing, 
got  out  of  it  was  an  anecdote  for  posterity.  The 
poet  was  riding  out  one  day  with  a  few  attend- 
ants— some  say  walking  out  in  a  fit  of  absence 
of  mind — when  he  found  himself  in  the  midst 
of  a  band  of  outlaws,  who,  in  a  suspicious  man- 
ner, barely  suffered  him  to  pass.  A  reader  of 
Mrs.  Radcliffe  might  suppose  them  a  band  of 
condottieri^  under  the  command  of  some  profli- 
gate desperado  ;  and  such  perhaps  they  were. 
The  governor  had  scarcely  gone  by,  when  the 
leader  of  the  band,  discovering  who  he  was, 
came  riding  back  with  much  earnestness,  and 
making  his  obeisance  to  the  poet,  said,  that  he 
never  should  have  allowed  him  to  pass  in  that 
manner  had  he  known  him  to  be  the  Signor 
Lodovico  Ariosto,  author  of  the  *  *  Orlando  Fu- 

*  "  La  novit^  del  loco  ^  stata  tanta, 
C  ho  fatto  come  augel  che  niuta  gabbia, 
Che  molti  giorni  resta  che  non  canta." 
For  the  rest  of  the  above  particulars  see  the  fifth  satire, 
beginning  "  II  vigesimo  giorno  di  Febbraio."      I  quote 
the  exordium,  because  these  compositions  are  differently 
numbered  in  different  editions.    The  one  I  generally  use 
is  that  of  Molini— "  Poesie  Varie  di  Lodovico  Anosto, 
con  Annotazioni."    Firenze,  i2mo.,  1824. 


ii8  XoDovico  Briosto 

rioso  ;  "  tliat  his  own  name  was  Filippo  Pacchi- 
one  (a  celebrated  personage  of  his  order);  and 
that  his  men  and  himself,  so  far  from  doing  the 
signor  displeasure,  would  have  the  honor  of  con- 
ducting him  back  to  his  castle.  "  And  so  they 
did,"  saysBaretti,  "entertaining  him  all  along 
the  way  with  the  various  excellences  they  had 
discerned  in  his  poem,  and  bestowing  upon  it 
the  most  rapturous  praises."* 

On  his  return  from  Garfagnana,  Ariosto  is  un- 
derstood to  have  made  several  journeys  in  Italy, 
either  with  or  without  the  duke,  his  master ; 
some  of  them  to  Mantua,  where  it  has  been  said 
that  he  was  crowned  with  laurel  by  the  Em- 
peror Charles  the  Fifth.  But  the  truth  seems  to 
be,  that  he  only  received  a  laureate  diploma  :  it 
does  not  appear  that  Charles  made  him   any 


*" Italian  Library,"  p.  52.  I  quote  Baretti,  because 
he  speaks  with  a  corresponding  enthusiasm.  He  calls 
the  incident  "  a  very  rare  proof  of  the  irresistible  powers 
of  poetry,  and  a  noble  comment  on  the  fables  of  Orpheus 
and  Amphion,"  etc.  The  words  "noble  comment" 
might  lead  us  to  fancy  that  Johnson  had  made  some  such 
remark  to  him  while  relating  the  story  in  Bolt  Court. 
Nor  is  the  former  part  of  the  sentence  unlike  him  :  "  A 
very  rare  proof,  sir,  of  the  irresistible  powers  of  poetry, 
and  a  noble  comment,"  etc.  Johnson,  notwithstanding 
his  classical  predilections,  was  likely  to  take  much  inter- 
est in  Ariosto  on  account  of  his  universality  and  the 
heartiness  of  his  passions.  He  had  a  secret  regard  for 
"  wildness  "  of  all  sorts,  provided  it  came  within  any 
pale  of  the  sympathetic.  He  was  also  fond  of  romances 
of  chivalry.  On  one  occasion  he  selected  the  history  of 
Felixmarte  of  Hyrcania  as  his  course  of  reading  during 
a  visit. 


XoDovico  Hrlosto 


other  gift.  His  majesty,  and  the  whole  house 
of  Este,  and  the  pope,  and  all  the  other  Italian 
princes,  left  that  to  be  done  by  the  imperial 
general,  the  celebrated  Alfonso  Davallos, 
Marquess  of  Vasto,  to  whom  he  was  sent  on 
some  mission  by  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  and  who 
settled  on  him  an  annuity  of  a  hundred  golden 
ducats;  "the  only  reward,"  says  Panizzi, 
"  which  we  find  to  have  been  conferred  on  Ari- 
osto  expressly  as  a  poet,"*  Davallos  was  one 
of  the  conquerors  of  Francis  the  First,  young 
md  handsome,  and  himself  a  writer  of  verses. 
The  grateful  poet  accordingly  availed  himself  of 
his  benefactor's  accomplishments  to  make  him, 
in  turn,  a  present  of  every  virtue  under  the  sun, 
Caesar  was  not  so  liberal,  Nestor  so  wise,  Achilles 
so  potent,  Nireus  so  beautiful,  nor  even  Ladas, 
Alexander's  messenger,  so  swift.f  Ariostowas 
now  verging  towards  the  grave  ;  and  he  probably 
saw  in  the  hundred  ducats  a  golden  sunset  of 
his  cares. 

Meantime,  however,  the  poet  had  built  a 
house,  which,  although  small,  was  raised  with 

*  The  deed  of  gift  sets  forth  the  interest  which  it  be- 
comes princes  and  commanders  to  take  in  men  of  let- 
ters, particularly  poets,  as  heralds  of  their  fame,  and 
consequently  the  special  fitness  of  the  illustrious  and 
superexcellent  poet  Lodovico  Ariosto  for  receiving  from 
Alfonso  Davallos,  Marquess  of  Vasto,  the  irrevocable 
sum  of,  etc.,  etc.  Panizza  has  copied  the  substance  of  it 
from  Baruflfaldi,  vol.  i.,  p.  67. 

t  "  Orlando  Furioso,"  canto  xxxiii  ,  st.  28. 


XoDivoco  Briosto 


his  own  money  ;  so  tliat  the  second  edition  of 
the  "  Orlando  "  may  have  realized  some  profits 
at  last.  He  recorded  the  pleasant  fact  in  an  in- 
scription over  the  door,  which  has  become  cele- 
brated : 

"  '  Parva,  sed  apta  mihi ;  sed  nuUi  obnoxia ;  sed  non 
Sordida  ;  parta  meo  sed  tamen  sere  domus." 

Small,  yet  it  suits  me  ;  is  of  no  offence  ; 
"Was  built,  not  meanly,  at  my  own  expense. 

What  a  pity  (to  compare  great  things  with 
small)  that  he  had  not  as  long  a  life  before  him 
to  enjoy  it,  as  Gil  Bias  had  with  his  own  com- 
fortable quotation  over  his  retreat  at  Lirias  !  * 

The  house  still  remains  ;  but  the  inscription 
unfortunately  became  effaced  ;  though  the  fol- 
lowing one  remains,  which  was  added  by  his 
son  Virginio  : 

"  Sic  domus  hsec  Areostea 
Propitios  habeat  c^os,  olim  ut  Pindarica." 

Dear  to  the  Gods,  whatever  come  to  pass, 
Be  Ariosto's  house,  as  Pindar's  was. 

This  was  an  anticipation — perhaps  the  origin 
— of  Milton's  sonnet  about  his  own  house,  ad- 


Inveni  portum  :  spes  et  fortuna,  valete  ; 

Sat  me  lusistis ;  ludite  nunc  alios." 
My  port  is  found  :  adieu,  ye  freaks  of  chance ; 
The  dance  ye  led  me,  now  let  others  dance. 


Xo^ovico  Brlo5to 


dressed  to   *' Captains  and  Colonels,"   during 
the  civil  war.* 

Davallos  made  the  poet  his  generous  present 
in  the  October  of  the  year  1531 ;  and  in  the 
same  month  of  the  year  following  the  "  Or- 
lando "  was  published  as  it  now  stands,  with  va- 
rious insertions  throughout,  chiefly  stories,  and 
six  additional  cantos.  Cardinal  Ippolito  had 
been  dead  sometime  ;  and  the  de\dce  of  the  bee- 
hive was  exchanged  for  one  of  two  vipers,  with 
a  hand  and  pair  of  shears  cutting  out  their 
tongues,  and  the  motto,  "Thou  hast  preferred 
ill-will  to  good "  {Dilexisti  malitiam  super 
benignatatevi).  The  allusion  is  understood  to 
have  been  to  certain  critics  whose  names  have 
all  perished,  unless  Sperone  (of  whom  we 
shall  hear  more  by  and  by)  was  one  of 
them.  The  appearance  of  this  edition  was  eag- 
erly looked  for  ;  but  the  trouble  of  correcting 
the  press,  and  the  destruction  of  a  theatre  by 
fire,  which  had  been  built  under  the  poet's  di- 
rection, did  his  health  no  good  in  its  rapidly  de- 
clining condition  ;  and  after  suffering  greatly 
from  an  obstruction,  he  died,  much  attenuated, 
on  the  sixth  day  of  June,  1533.  His  decease,  his 
fond  biographers  have  told  us,  took  place 
"about  three  in  the  afternoon"  ;    and  he  was 

*  "  The  great  E;mathian  conqueror  bade  spare 

The  house  of  Pindarus,  when  temple  and  tower 
Went  to  the  ground,"  etc. 


XoDovico  Brioeto 


"aged  fifty  eight  years,  eight  months,  and 
twenty-eight  days. "  His  body,  according  to  his 
direction,  was  taken  to  the  church  of  the  Bene- 
dictines during  the  night  by  four  men,  with 
only  two  tapers,  and  in  the  most  private  and 
simple  manner.  The  monks  followed  it  to 
the  grave  out  of  respect,  contrary  to  their  usual 
custom. 

So  lived,  and  so  died,  and  so  desired  humbly 
to  be  buried,  one  of  the  delights  of  the  world. 

His  son  Virginio  had  erected  a  chapel  in  the 
garden  of  the  house  built  by  his  father,  and  he 
wished  to  have  his  body  removed  thither  ;  but 
the  monks  would  not  allow  it.  The  tomb,  at 
first  a  very  humble  one,  was  subsequently  al- 
tered and  enriched  several  times  ;  but  remains, 
I  believe,  as  rebuilt  at  the  beginning  of  the  cen- 
tury before  last  by  his  grand-nephew,  Lodovico 
Ariosto,  with  a  bust  of  the  poet,  and  two  statues 
representing  Poetry  and  Glory. 

Ariosto  was  tall  and  stout,  with  a  dark  com- 
plexion, bright  black  eyes,  black  and  curling 
hair,  aquiline  nose,  and  shoulders  broad  but  a 
little  stooping.  His  aspect  was  thoughtful,  and 
his  gestures  deliberate.  Titian,  besides  paint- 
ing his  portrait,  designed  that  which  appeared 
in  the  woodcut  of  the  author's  own  third  edi- 
tion of  his  poem,  which  has  been  copied  into 
Mr.  Panizzi's.  It  has  all  the  look  of  truth  of  that 


XoOovico  Briosto  123 

great  artist's  vital  hand  ;  but,  though  there  is  an 
expression  of  the  genial  character  of  the  mouth, 
notwithstanding  the  exuberance  of  beard,  it 
does  not  suggest  the  sweetness  observable  in 
one  of  the  medals  of  Ariosto,  a  wax  impression 
of  which  is  now  before  me ;  nor  has  the  nose  so 
much  delicacy  and  grace.* 

The  poet's  temperament  inclined  him  to  mel- 
ancholy, but  his  intercourse  was  always  cheer- 
ful. One  biographer  says  he  was  strong  and 
healthy — another,  that  he  was  neither.  In  all 
probability  he  was  naturally  strong,  but  weak- 
ened by  a  life  full  of  emotion.  He  talks  of 
growing  old  at  forty-four,  and  of  having  been 
bald  for  some  time,  f  He  had  a  cough  for  many 
years  before  he  died.  His  son  says  he  cured  it 
by  drinking  good  old  wine.  Ariosto  says  that 
'  *  vin  fumoso  ' '  did  not  agree  with  him  ;  but 
that  might  only  mean  wine  of  a  heady  sort.  The 
chances,  under  such  circumstances,  were  prob- 
ably against  wine  of  any  kind  ;  and  Panizzi 
thinks  the  cough  was  never  subdued.    His  phy- 

*  This  medal  is  inscribed  "Ludovicus  Ariost.  Poet." 
and  has  the  bee-hive  on  the  reverse,  with  the  motto 
"  Pro  bono  malum."  Ariosto  was  so  fond  of  this  device 
that  in  his  fragment  called  the  "  Five  Cantos  "  (c.  v.  st. 
26),  the  Paladin  Rinaldo  wears  it  embroidered  on  his 
mantle. 

t    "  lo  son  de'  dieci  il  primo,  e  vecchio  fatto 
Di  quaranta  quattro  anni,  e  il  capo  calvo 
Da  un  tempo  in  qua  sotto  il  cufi&otto  appiatto." 

"  Satira,"  ii. 


124  XoDovico  Briosto 

sicians  forbade  him  all  sorts  of  stimulants  with 
his  food.* 

His  temper  and  habits  were  those  of  a  man 
wholly  given  up  to  love  and  poetry.  In  his  youth 
he  was  volatile,  and  at  no  time  without  what  is 
called  some  *'  affair  of  the  heart."  Every  wo- 
man attracted  him  who  had  modesty  and  agreea- 
bleness  ;  and  as,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  very 
jealous,  one  might  imagine  that  his  wife,  who 
had  a  right  to  be  equally  so,  would  h^ve  led  no 
easy  life.  But  it  is  evident  he  could  practise 
very  generous  self-denial ;  and  probably  the 
married  portion  of  his  existence,  supposing 
Alessandra's  sweet  countenance  not  to  have 
belied  her,  was  happy  on  both  sides.  He  was 
beloved  by  his  family,  which  is  never  the  case 
with  the  unamiable.  Among  his  friends  were 
most  of  the  great  names  of  the  age,  including 
a  world  of  ladies,  and  the  whole  graceful  court 
of  Guidobaldo  da  Montefeltro,  duke  of  Urbino, 
for  which  Catiglione  wrote  his  book  of  the 
"Gentleman  "  (//  Cartegiano).     Raphael  ad- 


*  "  II  vin  fumoso,  a  me  vie  piu  interdetto 
Che  '1  tosco,  costi  a  inviti  si  tracanna, 
EJ  sacrilegio  e  non  ber  molto,  e  schietto." 
(He  is  speaking  of  the  wines  of  Hungary,  and  of  the 
hard  drinking  expected  of  strangers  in  that  country.) 
"  Tuttili  cibi  son  con  pepe  e  canna, 
Di  atnomo  e  d'  altri  aromati,  che  tutti 
Come  nocivi  il  medico  mi  danna." 

"  Satira,"  ii. 


Xo^ovico  Brfosto  125 

dressed  him  a  sonnet,  and  Titian  painted  his 
likeness.  He  knew  Vittoria  Colonna,  and 
Veronica  da  Gambera,  and  Giulia  Gonzaga 
(whom  the  Turks  would  have  run  away  with), 
and  Ippolita  Sforza,  the  beautiful  blue-stocking, 
who  set  Bandello  on  writing  his  novels,  and 
Bembo,  and  Flaminio,  and  Bemi,  and  Molza, 
and  Sannazzaro,  and  the  Medici  family,  and 
Vida,  and  Macchiavelli ;  and  nobody  doubts 
that  he  might  have  shone  at  the  court  of  Leo 
the  brightest  of  the  bright.  But  he  thought  it 
"better  to  enjoy  a  little  in  peace,  than  seek 
after  much  with  trouble."  *  He  cared  for  none 
of  the  pleasures  of  the  great,  except  building, 
and  that  he  was  content  to  satisfy  in  Cowley's 
fashion,  with  "a  small  house  in  a  large  gar- 
den." He  was  plain  in  his  diet,  disliked  cere- 
mony, and  was  frequently  absorbed  in  thought. 
His  indignation  was  roused  by  mean  and  brutal 
vices  ;  but  he  took  a  large  and  liberal  view 
of  human  nature  in  general ;  and,  if  he  was 
somewhat  free  in  his  life,  must  be  pardoned 
for  the  custom  of  the  times,  for  his  charity  to 
others,  and  for  the  genial  disposition  which 
made  him  an  enchanting  poet.  Above  all,  he 
was  an  affectionate  son  ;  lived  like  a  friend  with 
his  children  ;  and,  in  spite  of  his  tendency  to 
pleasure,  supplied  the  place  of  an  anxious  and 
*  Pigna,  "I  Romanzi,"  p.  119. 


126  XoDovico  Brtosto 

careful  father  to  his  brothers  and  sisters,  who 
idolized  him. 

"  Ornabat  pietas  et  grata  modestea  vatem," 

wrote  his  brother  Gabriel, 

"  Sancta  fides,  dictique  memor,  muniaque  recto 
Justitia,  et  nullo  patientia  victa  labore, 
E)t  constans  virtus  animi,  et  dementia  mitis, 
Ambitione  procul  pulsa  fastlisque  tumore  ; 
Credere  uti  posses  natum  felicibus  horis, 
Felici  fulgente  astro  Jovis  atque  Diones."  * 

Devoted  tenderness  adorned  the  bard, 

And  grateful  modesty  and  grave  regard 

To  his  least  word,  and  justice  arm'd  with  right, 

And  patience  counting  every  labor  light. 

And  constancy  of  soul,  and  meekness  too, 

That  neither  pride  nor  worldly  wishes  knew. 

You  might  have  thought  him  born  when  there  concur 

The  sweet  star  and  the  strong,  Venus  and  Jupiter. 

His  son  Virginio,  and  others,  have  left  a  variety 
of  anecdotes  corroborating  points  in  his  charac- 
ter. I  shall  give  them  all  for  they  put  us  into 
his  company. 

It  is  recorded,  as  an  instance  of  his  reputation 
for  honesty,  that  an  old  kinsman,  a  clergyman, 
who  was  afraid  of  being  poisoned  for  his  pos- 
sessions, would  trust  himself  in  no  other  hands  : 
but  the   clergyman  was  his  own   grand-uncle 

*  Epicedium  on  his  brother's  death.  It  is  reprinted 
(perhaps  for  the  first  time  since  1582)  in  Mr.  Panizzi's 
Appendix  to  the  lyife,  in  his  first  volume,  p.  clxi. 


XoDovico  Briosto  127 

and  namesake,  probably  godfather  ;  so  that  the 
compliment  is  not  so  very  great. 

In  his  youth  he  underwent  a  long  rebuke  one 
day  from  his  father  without  saying  a  word, 
though  a  satisfactory  answer  was  in  his  power ; 
on  which  his  brother  Gabriel  expressing  his  sur- 
prise, he  said  that  he  was  thinking  all  the  time  of 
a  scene  in  a  comedy  he  was  writing,  for  which 
the  paternal  lecture  afforded  an  excellent  study. 

He  loved  gardening  better  than  he  understood 
it ;  was  always  shifting  his  plants,  and  destroy- 
ing the  seeds,  out  of  impatience  to  see  them 
germinate.  He  was  rejoicing  once  on  the  com- 
ing up  of  some  "capers,"  which  he  had  been 
visiting  every  day  to  see  how  they  got  on,  when 
it  turned  out  that  his  capers  were  elder-trees  ! 

He  was  perpetually  altering  his  verses.  His 
manuscripts  are  full  of  corrections.  He  wrote 
the  exordium  of  the  * '  Orlando  ' '  over  and  over 
again  ;  and  at  last  could  only  be  satisfied  with 
it  in  proportion  as  it  was  not  his  own  ;  that  is 
to  say,  in  proportion  as  it  came  nearer  to  the 
beautiful  passage  in  Dante  from  which  his  ear 
and  his  feelings  had  caught  it.* 

*  "  I,e  donne,  i  cavalier,  1'  arme,  gli  amori, 
I^e  cortesie,  le  audaci  imprese,  io  canto," 
is  Ariosto's  commencement ; 

I,adies,  and  cavaliers,  and  loves,  and  arms. 
And  courtesies,  and  daring  deeds,  I  sing. 
In  Dante's  "  Purgatory  "  (canto  xiv.),  a  noble  Romagn- 


128  XoOovico  BrlO0to 


He,  however,  discovered  that  correction  was 
not  always  improvement.  He  used  to  say,  it 
was  with  verses  as  with  trees.  A  plant  naturally 
well  growing  might  be  made  perfect  by  a  little 
delicate  treatment ;  but  over-cultivation  des- 
troyed its  native  grace.  In  like  manner,  you 
might  perfect  a  happily-inspired  verse  by  tak- 
ing away  any  little  fault  of  expression  ;  but  too 
great  a  polish  deprived  it  of  the  charm  of  the 
first  conception.  It  was  like  over-training  a 
naturally  graceful  child.  If  it  be  wondered 
how  he  who  corrected  so  much  should  succeed 
so  well,  even  to  an  appearance  of  happy  negli- 
gence, it  is  to  be  considered  that  the  most  im- 
pulsive writers  often  put  down  their  thoughts 
too  hastily,  then  correct,  and  re-correct  them  in 
the  same  impatient  manner  ;  and  so  have  to 
bring  them  round,  by  as  many  steps,  to  the 
feeling  which  they  really  had  at  first,  though 
they  were  too  hasty  to  do  it  justice. 

Ariosto  would  have  altered  his  house  as  often 
as  his  verses,  but  did  not  find  it  so  convenient. 
Somebody  wondering  that  he  contented  himself 
with   so  small  an   abode,  when  he  built  such 


ese,  lamenting-  the  degeneracy  of  his  country,  calls  to 

mind  with  graceful  and  touching  regret, 
"  IvC  donne,  i  cavalier,  gli  aflfanni  e  gli  agi, 
Che  inspiravano  amore  e  cortesia." 
The  ladies  and  the  knights,  the  cares  and  leisures, 
Breathing  around  them  love  and  courtesy. 


ILoOovfco  Brf06to  129 

magnificent  mansions  in  his  poetry,  he  said  it 
was  easier  to  put  words  together  than  blocks  of 
stone.  * 

He  liked  Virgil  ;  commended  the  style  of 
Tibullus  ;  did  not  care  for  Propertius  ;  but  ex- 
pressed high  approbation  of  Catullus  and  Hor- 
ace. I  suspect  his  favorite  to  have  been  Ovid. 
His  son  says  he  did  not  study  much,  nor  look 
after  books  ;  but  this  may  have  been  in  his  de- 
cline, or  when  Virginio  first  took  to  observing 
him.  A  different  conclusion  as  to  study  is  to  be 
drawn  from  the  corrected  state  of  his  manu- 
scripts, and  the  variety  of  his  knowledge  ;  and 
with  regard  to  books,  he  not  only  mentions  the 
library  of  the  Vatican  as  one  of  his  greatest 
temptations  to  visit  Rome,  but  describes  him- 
self, with  all  the  gusto  of  a  book-worm,  as  en- 
joying them  in  his  chimney-corner,  f 

To  intimate  his  secrecy  in  love-matters,  he 
had  an  inkstand  with  a  Cupid  on  it,  holding  a 
finger  on  his  lips.  I  believe  it  is  still  in  exist- 
ence. J       He   did  not  disclose  his    mistresses* 

*  The  original  is  much  pithier,  but  I  cannot  find  equiva- 
lents for  the  alliteration.  He  said,  "Porvi  le  pietre  e 
porvi  le  parole  non  ^  il  medesinio." — Pigtia,  p.  119. 
According  to  his  son,  however,  his  remark  was,  that 
"  palaces  could  be  made  in  poems  without  money."  He 
probably  expressed  the  same  thing  in  different'ways  to 
diflferent  people. 

t  Vide"  Sat.,"  iii.  "  Mi  sia  un  tempo,"  etc.;  and  the 
passage  in  "  Sat.,".vii.,  beginning  "  Di  libri  antiqui." 

X  The  inkstand  which  Shelley  saw  at  Ferrara  ("  EJssays 


I30  XoOovico  Brlogto 

names,  as  Dante  did,  for  the  purpose  of  treating 
them  with  contempt ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand, 
does  he  appear  to  have  been  so  indiscriminately 
gallant  as  to  be  fond  of  goitres.  The  only  mis- 
tress of  whom  he  complained  he  concealed  in  a 
Latin  appellation  ;  and  of  her  he  did  not  com- 
plain with  scorn.  He  had  loved,  besides  Ales- 
sandra  Benucci,  a  lady  of  the  name  of  Ginevra  ; 
the  mother  of  one  of  his  children  is  recorded  as 
a  certain  Orsolina  ;  and  that  of  the  other  was 
named  Maria,  and  is  understood  to  have  been  a 
governess  in  his  father's  family.  * 

He  ate  fast,  and  of  whatever  was  next  him, 
often  beginning  with  the  bread  on  the  table 
before  the  dishes  came  ;  and  he  would  finish 
his  dinner  with  another  bit  of  bread.  "Appe- 
tiva  le  rape,"  says  his  good  son  ;  videlicet,  he 
was  fond  of  turnips.     In  his  fourth  Satire,  he 

and  lyCtters,"  p.  149)  could  not  have  been  this  ;  probably 
his  eye  was  caught  by  a  wrong  one.  Doubts  also,  after 
what  we  know  of  the  tricks  practised  upon  visitors  of 
Stratford-upon-Avon,  may  unfortunately  be  entertained 
of  the  "  plain  old  wooden  piece  of  furniture,"  the  arm- 
chair. Shelley  describes  the  handwriting  of  Ariosto  as 
"  a  small,  firm,  and  pointed  character,  expressing,  as  he 
should  say,  a  strong  and  keen,  but  circumscribed  energy 
of  mind."  Every  one  of  Shelley's  words  is  alwaj'S  worth 
consideration  •  but  handwritings  are  surely  equivocal 
testimonies  of  character  ;  they  depend  so  much  on  edu- 
cation, on  times  and  seasons  and  moods,  conscious  and 
unconscious  wills,  etc.  What  would  be  said  by  an  auto- 
graphist  to  the  strange  old,  ungraceful,  slovenly  hand- 
writing of  Shakespeare  ? 

*  Baruflfaldi.  1807,  p.  105. 


XoC)Ovlco  Brl06to  131 

mentions  as  a  favorite  dish  turnips  seasoned 
with  vinegar  and  boiled  must  (sapa),  which 
seems,  not  unjustifiably,  to  startle  Mr.  Panizzi,* 
He  cared  so  little  for  good  eating,  that  he  said 
of  himself  he  should  have  done  very  well  in  the 
days  when  people  lived  on  acorns.  A  stranger 
coming  in  one  day  at  the  dinner  hour,  he  ate 
up  what  was  provided  for  both,  saying  after- 
wards, when  told  of  it,  that  the  gentleman 
should  have  taken  care  of  himself.  This  does 
not  look  very  polite  ;  but  of  course  it  was  said 
in  jest.  His  son  attributed  this  carelessness  at 
table  to  absorption  in  his  studies. 

He  carried  this  absence  of  mind  so  far,  and  at 
the  same  time  was  so  good  a  pedestrian,  that 
Virginio  tells  us  he  once  walked  all  the  way 
from  Carpi  to  Ferrara  in  his  slippers,  owing  to 
his  having  strolled  out  of  doors  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

The  same  biographers  who  describe  him  as  a 
brave  soldier,  add  that  he  was  a  timid  horseman 
and  seaman  ;  and  indeed  he  appears  to  have  es- 
chewed every  kind  of  unnecessary  danger.  It 
was  a  maxim  of  his  to  be  the  last  in  going  out 
of  a  boat.     I  know  not  what  Orlando  would 

*  "  In  casa  mia  mi  sa  meglio  una  rapa 

Ch'  io  cuoca,  e  cotta  s'  un  stecco  m'  mforco, 

E)  mondo,  e  spargo  poi  di  aceto  e  sapa. 

"  Che  all'  altrui  mensa  tordo,  starno,  o  porco  Sel- 
vaggio." 


132  XoDovlco  Bri06to 

have  said  to  this,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
good  son  and  brother  avoided  no  pain  in  pur- 
suit of  his  duty.  He  more  than  once  risked 
his  life  in  tlie  service  of  government  from  the 
perils  of  travelling  among  war-makers  and  ban- 
ditti. Imagination  finds  something  worthy  of 
itself  on  great  occasions,  but  is  apt  to  discover 
the  absurdity  of  staking  existence  on  small 
ones.  Ariosto  did  not  care  to  travel  out  of  Italy. 
He  preferred,  he  says  going  round  the-^world  in 
a  map ;  visiting  countries  without  having  to 
pay  innkeepers,  and  ploughing  harmless  seas 
without  thunder  and  lightning.* 

His  outward  religion,  like  the  one  he  ascribed 
to  his  friend  Cardinal  Bembo,  was  "  that  of 
other  people."  He  did  not  think  it  of  use  to 
disturb  their  belief;  yet  excused  rather  than 
blamed  Luther,  attributing  his  heresy  to  the 
necessary  consequences  of  mooting  points  too 
subtle  for  human  apprehension. t     He  found  it 


*  "  Chi  vuole  andare,"  etc. 

"  Satira,"  iv. 
t  "  Se  Nicoletto  o  Fra  Martin  fan  segno 
D'  infedele  o  d'  eretico,  ne  accuse 
II  saper  troppo,  e  men  con  lor  mi  sdegno  : 

"  Perchfe  salendo  lo  intelletto  in  suso 
Per  veder  Dio,  non  de'  parerci  strano 
Se  talor  cade  giii  cieco  e  confuse." 

"Satira,"  vi. 
This  satire  was  addressed  to  Bembo.    The  cardinal  is 
said  to  have  asked  a  visitor  from  Germany  whether 
Brother  Martin  really  believed  what  he  preached,  and 


XoDovico  Brioeto  133 

impossible,  however,  to  restrain  his  contempt 
of  bigotry ;  and  like  most  great  writers  in  Cath- 
olic countries,  was  a  derider  of  the  pretensions 
of  devotees  and  the  discords  and  hypocrisies  of 
the  convent.  He  evidently  laughed  at  Dante's 
figments  about  the  other  world  ;  not  at  the 
f)oetry  of  them,  for  that  he  admired,  and  some- 
times imitated,  but  at  the  superstition  and  pre- 
sumption. He  turned  the  Florentine's  moon 
into  a  depository  of  nonsense ;  and  found  no 
hell  so  bad  as  the  hearts  of  tyrants.  The  only 
other  people  he  put  into  the  infernal  regions 
are  ladies  who  were  cruel  to  their  lovers  !  He 
had  a  noble  confidence  in  the  intentions  of  his 
Creator ;  and  died  in  the  expectation  of  meeting 
his  friends  again  in  a  higher  state  of  existence. 
Of  Ariosto's  four  brothers,  one  became  a  cour- 
tier at  Naples,  another  a  clergyman,  another  an 
envoy  to  the  Bmperor  Charles  the  Fifth,  and 
the  fourth,  who  was  a  cripple  and  a  scholar, 
lived  with  Lodovico,  and  celebrated  his  mem- 
ory.    His  two  sons,  whose  names  were  Virginio 

to  have  expressed  the  greatest  astonishment  when  told 
that  he  did.  Cardinals  were  then  what  augnirs  were  in 
the  time  of  Cicero— wondering-  that  they  did  not  burst 
out  a-laughing  in  one  another's  faces.  This  was  bad  ; 
but  inquisitors  are  a  million  times  worse.  By  the  Nico- 
letto  here  mentioned  by  Ariosto  in  company  with 
I,uther,  we  are  to  understand  (according  to  the  conjec- 
ture of  Molini)  a  Paduan  professor  of  the  nameof  Nicolo 
Vemia,  who  was  accused  of  holding  the  Pantheistic 
opinions  of  Averroes. 


134  XoDovlco  Bri06to 

and  Gianbattista,  and  who  were  illegitimate 
(the  reader  is  always  to  bear  in  mind  the  more 
indulgent  customs  of  Italy  in  matters  of  this 
nature,  especially  in  the  poet's  time),  became, 
the  first  a  canon  in  the  cathedral  of  Ferrara, 
and  the  other  an  officer  in  the  army.  It  does 
not  appear  that  he  had  any  other  children, 

Ariosto's  renown  is  wholly  founded  on  the 
' '  Orlando  Furioso, ' '  though  he  wrote  satires, 
comedies,  and  a  good  deal  of  miscellaneous 
poetry,  all  occasionally  exhibiting  a  master- 
hand.  The  comedies,  however,  were  unfortu- 
nately modelled  on  those  of  the  ancients  ;  and 
the  constant  termination  of  the  verse  with  tri- 
syllables contributes  to  render  them  tedious. 
What  comedies  might  he  not  have  written  had 
he  given  himself  up  to  existing  times  and  man- 
ners !  * 

The  satires  are  rather  good-natured  epistles 
to  his  friends,  written  with  a  charming  ease 
and  straightforwardness,  and  containing  much 

*  Take  a  specimen  of  this  leap-frog  versification  from 
the  prologue  to  the  "  Cassaria ' ' : 

"  Questa  commedia,  ch'  oggi  rscitatavi 
Sara,  se  nol  sapete,  6  la  Cassaria, 
Ch'  un  altra  volta,  gi^vent'  oMnxpassano, 
Veder  si  fece  sopra  qnesiipulpiii 
Ed  allora  assai  piacque  a  tutto  iXpbpolo, 
Ma  non  ne  ripostd  gia  degnopr^mio, 
Che  data  in  preda  a  gl'  importuni  ed  Aindt 
Stampator  fu,"  etc. 

This  through  five  comedies  in  five  acts  ! 


ILoDovico  Briosto  t36 

exquisite  sense  and  interesting  autobiography. 
On  his  lyrical  poetry  he  set  little  value ;  and 
his  Latin  verse  is  not  of  the  best  order.  Critics 
have  expressed  their  surprise  at  its  inferiority 
to  that  of  contemporaries  inferior  to  him  in 
genius  ;  but  the  reason  lay  in  the  very  circum- 
stance. I  mean  that  his  large  and  liberal  inspi- 
ration could  only  find  its  proper  vent  in  his  own 
language ;  he  could  not  be  content  with  potting 
up  little  delicacies  in  old-fashioned  vessels. 

The  ' '  Orlando  Furioso  ' '  is  literally  a  contin- 
uation of  the  *'  Orlando  Innamorato  "  ;  so 
much  so  that  the  story  is  not  thoroughly  intel- 
ligible without  it.  This  was  probably  the  rea- 
son of  a  circumstance  that  would  be  otherwise 
unaccountable,  and  that  was  ridiculously 
charged  against  him  as  a  proof  of  despairing 
envy  by  the  despairing  envy  of  Sperone ; 
namely,  his  never  having  once  mentioned  the 
name  of  his  predecessor.  If  Ariosto  had  de- 
spaired of  equalling  Boiardo,  he  must  have  been 
hopeless  of  reaching  posterity,  in  which  case 
his  silence  must  have  been  useless  ;  and  in  any 
case  it  is  clear  that  he  looked  on  himself  as  the 
continuator  of  another's  narration.  But  Boi- 
ardo was  so  popular  when  he  wrote  that  the 
very  silence  shows  he  must  have  thought  the 
mention  of  his  name  superfluous.  Still  it  is 
curious  that  he  never  should  have  alluded  to  it 


136  XoDovfco  Brfosto 

in  the  course  of  the  poem.  It  could  not  have 
been  from  any  dislike  to  the  name  itself,  or  the 
family ;  for  in  his  Latin  poems  he  has  eulogized 
the  hospitality  of  the  house  of  Boiardo.* 

The  "Furioso"  continued  not  only  what 
Boiardo  did,  but  what  he  intended  to  do  ;  for  as 
its  subject  is  Orlando's  love  and  knight-errantry 
in  general,  so  its  object  was  to  extol  the  house 
of  Bste,  and  deduce  it  from  its  fabulous  ances- 
tor Ruggiero.  Orlando  is  the  open,^  Ruggiero 
the  covert  hero  ;  and  almost  all  the  incidents 
of  this  supposed  irregular  poem,  which,  as 
Panizzi  has  shown,  is  one  of  the  most  reg- 
ular in  the  world,  go  to  crown  with  triumph 
and  wedlock  the  originator  of  that  unworthy 
race.  This  is  done  on  the  old  groundwork  of 
Charlemagne  and  his  Paladins,  of  the  treach- 
eries of  the  house  of  Gan  of  Maganza,  and  of 
the  wars  of  the  Saracens  against  Christendom. 
Bradamante,  the  Amazonian  intended  of  Rug- 
giero, is  of  the  same  race  as  Orlando,  and  a 
great  overthrower  of  infidels.  Ruggiero  begins 
with  being  an  infidel  himself,  and  is  kept  from 
the  wars,  like  a  second  Achilles,  by  the  devices 
of  an  anxious  guardian,  but  ultimately  fights, 
is  converted  and  marries  ;  and  Orlando  all  the 
while  slays  his  thousands,  as  of  old,  loves,  goes 
mad  for  jealousy,  is  the  foolishest  and  wisest  of 
*  In  the  verses  entitled  "  Bacchi  Statua." 


XoDovico  Briosto  137 

mankind  (somewhat  like  the  poet  himself),  and 
crowns  the  glory  of  Ruggiero  not  only  by  being 
present  at  his  marriage,  but  putting  on  his 
spurs  with  his  own  hand  when  he  goes  forth  to 
conclude  the  war  by  the  death  of  the  king  of 
Algiers. 

The  great  charm,  however,  of  the  **  Orlando 
Furioso ' '  is  not  in  its  knight-errantry,  or  its 
main  plot,  or  the  cunning  interweavement  of 
its  minor  ones,  but  in  its  endless  variety,  truth, 
force,  and  animal  spirits  ;  in  its  fidelity  to  ac- 
tual nature  while  it  keeps  within  the  bounds  of 
the  probable,  and  its  no  less  enchanting  verisi- 
militude during  its  wildest  sallies  of  imagina- 
tion. At  one  moment  we  are  in  the  midst  of 
flesh  and  blood  like  ourselves  ;  at  the  next  with 
fairies  and  goblins ;  at  the  next  in  a  tremen- 
dous battle  or  tempest ;  then  in  one  of  the 
loveliest  of  solitudes  ;  then  hearing  a  tragedy, 
then  a  comedy  ;  then  mystified  in  some  en- 
chanted palace ;  then  riding,  dancing,  dining, 
looking  at  pictures ;  then  again  descending  to 
the  depths  of  the  earth,  or  soaring  to  the  moon, 
or  seeing  lovers  in  a  glade,  or  witnessing  the 
extravagancies  of  the  great  jealous  hero  Or- 
lando ;  and  the  music  of  an  enchanting  style 
perpetually  attends  us,  and  the  sweet  face  of 
Angelica  glances  here  and  there  like  a  bud ; 
and  there  are  gallantries  of  all  kinds,  and  sto- 


138  Xot)o\>lco  Brlosto 


ries  endless,  and  honest  tears,  and  joyous  bursts 
of  laughter,  and  beardings  for  all  base  opinions, 
and  no  bigotry,  and  reverence  for  whatsoever 
is  venerable,  and  candor  exquisite,  and  the 
happy  interwoven  names  of  "Angelica  and  Me- 
doro,"  young  forever. 

But  so  great  a  work  is  not  to  be  dismissed 
with  a  mere  rhapsody  of  panegyric.  Ariosto  is 
inferior,  in  some  remarkable  respects,  to  his 
predecessors  Pulci  and  Boiardo.  His  charac- 
ters, for  the  most  part,  do  not  interest  us  as 
much  as  theirs  by  their  variety  and  good  fel- 
lowship ;  he  invented  none  as  Boiardo  did,  with 
the  exception,  indeed,  of  Orlando's,  as  modi- 
fied by  jealousy  ;  and  he  has  no  passage,  I 
think,  equal  in  pathos  to  that  of  the  struggle  at 
Roncesvalles  ;  for  though  Orlando's  jealousy  is 
pathetic,  as  well  as  appalling,  the  effects  of  it 
are  confined  to  one  person,  and  disputed  by  his 
excessive  strength.  Ariosto  has  taken  all  ten- 
derness out  of  Angelica,  except  that  of  a  kind 
of  boarding-school  first  love  (which,  however, 
as  hereafter  intimated,  may  have  simplified 
and  improved  her  general  effect),  and  he  has 
omitted  all  that  was  amusing  in  the  character  of 
Astolfo.  Knight-errantry  has  fallen  off  a  little 
in  his  hands  from  its  first  youthful  and  trusting 
freshness  ;  more  sophisticate  times  are  opening 
upon  us ;  and  satire  more  frequently  and  bit- 


XoDovico  Brlosto  139 

terly  interferes.  The  licentious  passages  (though 
never  gross  in  words,  like  those  of  his  contem- 
poraries) are  not  redeemed  by  sentiment  as  in 
Boiardo  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  Ariosto  hardly 
improved  so  much  as  he  might  have  done  upon 
his  predecessor's  imitations  of  the  classics.  I 
cannot  help  thinking  that,  upon  the  whole,  he 
had  better  have  left  them  alone,  and  depended 
entirely  on  himself.  Shelley  says,  he  has  too 
much  fighting  and  "  revenge,"  * — which  is  true ; 
but  the  revenge  was  only  among  his  knights. 
He  was  himself  (like  my  admirable  friend)  one 
of  the  most  forgiving  of  men  ;  and  the  fighting 
was  the  taste  of  the  age,  in  which  chivalry  was 
still  flourishing  in  the  shape  of  such  men  as 
Bayard,  and  ferocity  in  men  like  Gaston  de 
Foix.  Ariosto  certainly  did  not  anticipate,  any 
more  than  Shakespeare  did,  that  spirit  of  human 
amelioration  which  has  ennobled  the  present 
age.  He  thought  only  of  reflecting  nature  as  he 
found  it.  He  is  sometimes  even  as  uninterest- 
ing as  he  found  other  people  ;  but  the  tiresome 
passages,  thank  God,  all  belong  to  the  house  of 
Este  !  His  panegyrics  of  Ippolito  and  his  ances- 
tors recoiled  on  the  poet  with  a  retributive 
dulness. 

But  in  all  the  rest  there  is  a  wonderful  in- 
vigoration   and   enlargement.    The   genius   of 
*  "  E)ssays  and  lyCtters,"  utsup.,  vol.  ii.,  p.  125, 


I40  XoDovico  Briosto 

romance  has  increased  to  an  extraordinary  de- 
gree in  power,  if  not  in  simplicity.  Its  shoul- 
ders have  grown  broader,  its  voice  louder  and 
more  sustained ;  and  if  it  has  lost  a  little 
on  the  sentimental  side,  it  has  gained  prodig- 
iously, not  only  in  animal  vigor,  but,  above  all, 
in  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  a  brave 
and  joyous  candor  in  showing  it.  The  poet 
takes  a  universal,  an  acute,  and,  upon  the 
whole,  a  cheerful  view,  like  the  suA  itself,  of 
all  which  the  sun  looks  on  ;  and  readers  are 
charmed  to  see  a  knowledge  at  once  so  keen 
and  so  happy.  Herein  lies  the  secret  of  Ariosto's 
greatness  ;  which  is  great,  not  because  it  has 
the  intensity  of  Dante,  or  the  incessant  thought 
and  passion  of  Shakespeare,  or  the  dignified 
imagination  of  Milton,  to  all  of  whom  he  is  far 
inferior  in  sustained  excellence,  but  because  he 
is  like  very  Nature  herself.  Whether  great, 
small,  serious,  pleasurable,  or  even  indifferent, 
he  still  has  the  life,  ease,  and  beauty  of  the 
operations  of  the  daily  planet.  Even  where  he 
seems  dull  and  commonplace,  his  brightness 
and  originality  at  other  times  make  it  look  like 
a  good-natured  condescension  to  our  own  com- 
mon habits  of  thought  and  discourse  ;  as  though 
he  did  it  but  on  purpose  to  leave  nothing  un- 
said that  could  bring  him  within  the  category  of 
ourselves.  His  charming  manner  intimates  that, 


XoDovtco  Briosto  141 

instead  of  taking  thought,  he  chooses  to  take 
pleasure  with  us,  and  compare  old  notes  ;  and 
we  are  delighted  that  he  does  us  so  much  honor, 
and  makes,  as  it  were,  Ariostos  of  us  all.  He  is 
Shakespearian  in  going  all  lengths  with  Nature 
as  he  found  her,  not  blinking  the  fact  of  evil, 
yet  finding  a  "soul  of  goodness  "  in  it,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  never  compromising  the  worth 
of  noble  and  generous  qualities.  His  young 
and  handsome  Medoro  is  a  pitiless  slayer  of  his 
enemies  ;  but  they  were  his  master's  enemies, 
and  he  would  have  lost  his  life,  even  to  preserve 
his  dead  body.  His  Orlando,  for  all  his  wis- 
dom and  greatness,  runs  mad  for  love  of  a  co- 
quette, who  triumphs  over  warriors  and  kings, 
only  to  fall  in  love  herself  with  an  obscure  lad. 
His  kings  laugh  with  all  their  hearts,  like  com- 
mon people  ;  his  mourners  weep  like  such  un- 
affected children  of  sorrow,  that  they  must 
needs  ''swallow  some  of  their  tears."*  His 
heroes,  on  the  arrival  of  intelligence  that  ex- 
cites them,  leap  out  of  bed  and  write  letters 
before  they  dress,  from  natural  impatience, 
thinking   nothing  of  their  ** dignity."     When 

*  "  I^e  lacrime  scendean  tra  gigli  e  r6se, 

I,a  dove  avvien  ch'  alcune  s^  n'  inghiozzi." 

Canto  xii.,  st.  94. 
Which  has  been  well  translated  by  Mr.  Rose  : 
"  And  between  rose  and  lily,  from  her  eyes 
Tears  fall  so  fast,  she  needs  must  swallow  some." 


142  XoDovico  BriO0to 

Astolfo  blows  the  magic  horn  which  drives 
everybody  out  of  the  castle  of  Atlantes,  ' '  not  a 
mouse"  stays  behind — not,  as  Hoole  and  such 
critics  think,  because  the  poet  is  here  writing 
ludicrously,  but  because  he  uses  the  same 
image  seriously,  to  give  an  idea  of  desolation, 
as  Shakespeare  in  "Hamlet"  does  to  give  that 
of  silence,  when  "not  a  mouse  is  stirring."  In- 
stead of  being  mere  comic  writing,  such  inci- 
dents are  in  the  highest  epic  taste  of  the  meet- 
ing of  extremes — of  the  impartial  eye  with 
which  Nature  regards  high  and  low.  So,  give 
Ariosto  his  hippogriff,  and  other  marvels  with 
which  he  has  enriched  the  stock  of  romance, 
and  Nature  takes  as  much  care  of  the  verisimili- 
tude of  their  actions,  as  if  she  had  made  them 
herself.  His  hippogriff  returns,  like  a  common 
horse,  to  the  stable  to  which  he  has  been  accus- 
tomed. His  enchanter,  who  is  gifted  with  the 
power  of  surviving  decapitation  and  pursuing 
the  decapitator  so  long  as  a  fated  hair  remains 
on  his  head,  turns  deadly  pale  in  the  face  when 
it  is  scalped,  and  falls  lifeless  from  his  horse. 
His  truth,  indeed,  is  so  genuine,  and  at  the 
same  time  his  style  is  so  unaffected,  some- 
times so  familiar  in  its  grace,  and  sets  us  so 
much  at  ease  in  his  company,  that  the  famili- 
arity is  in  danger  of  bringing  him  into  con- 
tempt with  the  inexperienced,  and  the  truth 


XoDovico  Briosto  143 

of  being  considered  old  and  obvious,  because 
the  mode  of  its  introduction  makes  it  seem 
an  old  acquaintance.  When  Voltaire  was  a 
young  man,  and  (to  Anglicize  a  favorite  Gallic 
phrase)  fancied  he  had  profounded  every  thing 
deep  and  knowing,  he  thought  nothing  of 
Ariosto.  Some  years  afterwards  he  took  him 
for  the  first  of  grotesque  writers,  but  nothing 
more.  At  last  he  pronounced  him  equally  **  en- 
tertaining and  sublime,  and  humbly  apologized 
for  his  error."  Foscolo  quotes  this  passage 
from  the  "  Dictionnaire  Philosophique  "  ;  and 
adds  another  from  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  in 
which  the  painter  speaks  of  a  similar  inability 
on  his  own  part,  when  young,  to  enjoy  the  per- 
fect nature  of  Raphael,  and  the  admiration  and 
astonishment  which,  in  his  riper  years,  he  grew 
to  feel  for  it.  * 

The  excessive  "wildness"  attributed  to  Ari- 
osto is  not  wilder  than  many  things  in  Homer, 
or  even  than  some  things  in  Virgil  (such  as  the 
tranformation  of  ships  into  sea-nymphs).  The 
reason  why  it  has  been  thought  so  is,  that  he 
rendered  them  more  popular  by  mixing  them 
with  satire,  and  thus  brought  them  more  uni- 
versally into  notice.  One  main  secret  of  the 
delight  they  give  us  is  their  being  poetical  com- 

*  Essay  on  the  "  Narrative  and  Romantic  Poems  of  the 
Italians,"  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  vol.  xxi. 


144  XoDovico  Brioato 

ments,  at  it  were,  on  fancies  and  metaphors  of 
our  own.  Thus,  we  say  of  a  suspicious  man, 
that  he  is  suspicion  itself;  Ariosto  turns  him 
accordingly  into  an  actual  being  of  that  name. 
We  speak  of  the  flights  of  the  poets ;  Ariosto 
makes  them  literally  flights — flights  on  a  hip- 
pogrifif,  and  to  the  moon.  The  moon,  it  has 
been  said,  makes  lunatics ;  he  accordingly  puts 
a  man's  wits  into  that  planet.  Vice  deforms 
beauty;  therefore  his  beautiful  enchantress 
turns  out  to  be  an  old  hag.  Ancient  defeated 
empires  are  sounds  and  emptiness ;  therefore 
the  Assyrian  and  Persian  monarchies  become, 
in  his  limbo  of  vanities,  a  heap  of  positive  blad- 
ders. Youth  is  headstrong,  and  kissing  goes 
by  favor ;  so  Angelica,  queen  of  Cathay,  and 
beauty  of  the  world,  jilts  warriors  and  kings, 
and  marries  a  common  soldier. 

And  what  a  creature  is  this  Angelica  !  what 
effect  has  she  not  had  upon  the  world  in  spite 
of  all  her  faults,  nay,  probably  by  very  reason 
of  them  !  I  know  not  whether  it  has  been  re- 
marked before,  but  it  appears  to  me,  that  the 
charm  which  every  body  has  felt  in  the  story 
of  Angelica  consists  mainly  in  that  very  fact 
of  her  being  nothing  but  a  beauty  and  a  woman, 
dashed  even  with  coquetry,  which  renders  her 
so  inferior  in  character  to  most  heroines  of 
romance.     Her  interest  is  founded  on  nothing 


Xo^ovfco  Brlosto  145 

exclusive  or  prejudiced.  It  is  not  addressed  to 
any  special  class.  She  might  or  might  not 
have  been  liked  by  this  person  or  that ;  but 
the  world  in  general  will  adore  her,  because 
nature  has  made  them  to  adore  beauty  and  the 
sex,  apart  from  prejudices  right  or  wrong.  Youth 
will  attribute  virtues  to  her,  whether  she  has 
them  or  not ;  middle-age  be  unable  to  help 
gazing  on  her ;  old-age  dote  on  her.  She  is 
womankind  itself  in  form  and  substance  ;  and 
that  is  a  stronger  thing,  for  the  most  part,  than 
all  our  figments  about  it.  Two  musical  names, 
"Angelica  and  Medoro,"  have  become  identi- 
fied in  the  minds  of  poetical  readers  with  the 
honeymoon  of  youthful  passion. 

The  only  false  and  insipid  fiction  I  can  call 
to  mind  in  the  "Orlando  Furioso  "  is  that  of 
the  "swans"  who  rescue  "medals"  from  the 
river  of  oblivion  (canto  xxxv.).  It  betrays  a 
singular  forgetfulness  of  the  poet's  wonted 
verisimilitude ;  for  what  metaphor  can  recon- 
cile us  to  swans  taking  an  interest  in  medals  ? 
Popular  belief  had  made  them  singers ;  but  it 
was  not  a  wise  step  to  convert  them  into  anti- 
quaries. 

Ariosto's  animal  spirits,  and  the  brilliant 
hurry  and  abundance  of  incidents,  blind  a  care- 
less reader  to  his  endless  particular  beauties, 
which,  though  he  may  too  often  ' '  describe  in- 


146  XoDovico  Brioato 

stead  of  paint ' '  (on  account,  as  Foscolo  says,  of 
his  writing  to  the  many),  show  that  no  man 
could  paint  better  when  he  chose.  The  bosoms 
of  his  females  ' '  come  and  go,  like  the  waves  on 
the  sea-coast  in  summer  airs."*  His  witches 
draw  the  fish  out  of  the  water 

"  with  simple  words  and  a  pure  warbled  spell."  f 
He  borrows  the  word  "painting"  itself,  like 
a  true  Italian  and  friend  of  Raphael  and  Titian, 
to  express  the  commiseration  in  the  faces  of  the 
blest  for  the  sufferings  of  mortality  : 
"  Dipinte  di  pietade  il  viso  pio."  | 
Their  pious  looks  painted  with  tenderness. 

Jesus  is  very  finely  called,  in  the  same  pas- 
sage, **il  sempiterno  Amante,"  the  eternal 
lyover.     The  female  sex  are  the 

"  Schiera  gentil  che  pur  adorna  il  mondo."  § 
The  gentle  bevy  that  adorns  the  world. 

He  paints  cabinet  pictures  like  Spenser,  in  iso- 
lated stanzas,  with  a  pencil  at  once  solid  and 
light ;  as  in  the  instance  of  the  charming  one 
that  tells  the  story  of  Mercury  and  his  net ; 
how  he  watched  the  Goddess  of  Flowers  as  she 

*  "  Vengono  e  van,  come  onda  al  primo  margo 
Quando  piacevole  aura  il  mar  combatte. ' ' 
Canto  vii.,  st.  14. 

t "  Con  semplici  parole  e  puri  incanti." 

Canto  vi.,  st.  38. 

X  Canto  xiv.,  st.  79.  §  Canto  xxviii.,  st.  98. 


3LoDovico  Briosto  147 

issued  forth  at  dawn  with  her  lap  full  of  roses 
and  violets,  and  so  threw  the  net  over  her 
"  one  day,"  and  "  took  her""; 

"  un  dilo  presse."* 

But  he  does  not  confine  himself  to  these  gen- 
tle pictures.  He  has  many  as  strong  as  Michael 
Angelo,  some  as  intense  as  Dante.  He  paints 
the  conquest  of  America  in  five  words  : 

"  Veggio  da  diece  cacciar  mille."  t 

I  see  thousands 
Hunted  by  tens. 

He  compares  the  noise  of  a  tremendous  battle 
heard  in  the  neighborhood  to  the  sound  of  the 
cataracts  of  the  Nile  : 

"  un  alto  suon  ch'  a  quel  s'  accorda 
Con  che  i  vicin'  cadendo  il  Nil  assorda."  t 

He  "scourges"  ships  at  sea  with  tempests — 
say  rather  the  "miserable  seamen";  while 
nighttime  grows  blacker  and  blacker  on  the 
"  exasperated  waters."  || 

When  Rodomont  has  plunged  into  the  thick 
of  Paris,  and  is  carrying  every  thing  before 
him  ("like  a  serpent  that  has  newly  cast  his 
skin,  and  goes  shaking  his  three  tongues  under 
his  eyes  of  fire"),  he  makes  this  tremendous 
hero  break  the  middle  of  the  palace-gate  into 

*  Canto  XV.,  st.  57.  t  Id.,  st.  23. 

4:  Canto  xvi.,  st.  56.  ]|  Canto  xviii.,  st.  142. 


148  XoDovico  Briosto 

a  huge  "window,"  and  look  through  it  with  a 

countenance  which  is   suddenly  beheld  by  a 

crowd  of  faces  as  pale  as  death  : 

"  B  dentro  fatto  1'  ha  tanta  finestra, 
Che  ben  vedere  e  veduto  esser  puote 
Dai  visi  impressi  di  color  di  morte."  * 

The  whole  description  of  Orlando's  jealousy 
and  growing  madness  is  Shakespearian  for 
passion  and  circumstance  ;  and  his  sublima- 
tion of  a  suspicious  king  into  suspicion  itself 
(which  it  also  contains)  is  as  grandly  and 
felicitously  audacious  as  any  thing  ever  in- 
vented by  poet.  Spenser  thought  so  and 
has  imitated  and  emulated  it  in  one  of  his 
own  finest  passages.  Ariosto  has  not  the 
spleen  and  gall  of  Dante,  and  therefore  his 
satire  is  not  so  tremendous ;  yet  it  is  very  ex- 
quisite, as  all  the  world  have  acknowledged 
in  the  instances  of  the  lost  things  found  in 
the  moon,  and  the  angel  who  finds  Discord 
in  a  convent.  He  does  not  take  things  so 
much  to  heart  as  Chaucer.  He  has  nothing  so 
profoundly  pathetic  as  our  great  poet's  "  Gri- 
selda."  Yet  many  a  gentle  eye  has  moistened 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  story  of  Isabella ;  and 
to  recur  once  more  to  Orlando's  jealousy,  all 
who  have  experienced  that  passion  will  feel  it 
shake  them.     I  have  read  somewhere  of  a  visit 

*  Canto  xvii.,  st.  12. 


XoDovlco  Brioeto  149 

paid  to  Voltaire  by  an  Italian  gentleman,  who 
recited  it  to  him,  and  who  (being  moved  per- 
haps by  the  recollection  of  some  passage  in 
his  own  history)  had  the  tears  all  the  while 
pouring  down  his  cheeks. 

Such  is  the  poem  which  the  gracious  and 
good  Cardinal  Ippolito  designated  as  a  **  parcel 
of  trumpery."  It  had,  indeed,  to  contend  with 
more  slights  than  his.  Like  all  originals,  it 
was  obliged  to  wait  for  the  death  of  the  envi- 
ous and  self-loving,  before  it  acquired  a  popu- 
larity which  surpassed  all  precedent.  Foscolo 
says,  that  Macchiavelli  and  Ariosto,  "the  two 
writers  of  that  age  who  really  possessed  most 
excellence,  were  the  least  praised  during  their 
lives.  Bembo  was  approached  in  a  posture  of 
adoration  and  fear  ;  the  infamous  Aretino  ex- 
torted a  fulsome  letter  of  praises  from  the  great 
and  learned."*  He  might  have  added,  that 
the  writer  most  in  request  ' '  in  the  circles  ' '  was 
a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Bernardo  Accolti, 
then  called  the  Unique^  now  never  heard  of. 
Ariosto  himself  eulogized  him  among  a  shoal 
of  writers,  half  of  whose  names  have  perished  ; 
and  who  most  likely  included  in  that  half  the 
men  who  thought  he  did  not  praise  them 
enough.  For  such  was  the  fact !  I  allude  to 
the  charming  invention  in  his  last  canto,  in 
*  "  Kssay,"  as  above,  p.  534. 


I50  XoDovico  Bno6to 

which  he  supposes  himself  welcomed  home 
after  a  long  voyage.  Gay  imitated  it  very 
pleasantly  in  an  address  to  Pope  on  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  Homer.  Some  of  the  persons  thus 
honored  by  Ariosto  were  vexed,  it  is  said,  at 
not  being  praised  highly  enough  ;  others  at 
seeing  so  many  praised  in  their  company  ;  some 
at  being  left  out  of  the  list ;  and  some  others 
at  being  mentioned  at  all !  These  silly  people 
thought  it  taking  too  great  a  liberty !  The 
poor  flies  of  a  day  did  not  know  that  a  god  had 
taken  them  in  hand  to  give  them  wings  for 
eternity.  Happily  for  them  the  names  of  most 
of  these  mighty  personages  are  not  known. 
One  or  two,  however,  took  care  to  make  pOvS- 
terity  laugh.  Trissino,  a  very  great  man  in  his 
day,  and  the  would-be  restorer  of  the  ancient 
epic,  had  the  face  in  return  for  the  poet's  too 
honorable  mention  of  him,  to  speak,  in  his 
own  absurd  verses,  of  "Ariosto,"  with  that  *'  Fu- 
rioso  of  his,  which  pleases  the  vulgar  "  : 
"I, 'Ariosto 
Con  quel  Furioso  suo  che  piace  al  volgo." 

"//"wpoem,"  adds  Panizzi,  "has  the  merit  of 
not  having  pleased  any  body."*  A  sullen 
critic,  Sperone  (the  same  that  afterward  plagued 
Tasso)  was  so  disappointed  at  being  left  out, 
that  he  became  the  poet's  bitter  enemy.  He 
*  "  Boiardo  and  Ariosto,"  vol.  iv.,  p.  318. 


XoDovico  Brtoato  151 

talked  of  Ariosto  taking  himself  for  a  swan 
and  "dying  like  a  goose"  (the  allusion  was 
to  the  fragment  he  left  called  the  "  Five  Can- 
tos ").  What  has  become  of  the  swan  Sperone  ? 
Bernardo  Tasso,  Torquato's  father,  made  a 
more  reasonable  (but  which  turned  out  to  be 
unfounded)  complaint,  that  Ariosto  had  estab- 
lished a  precedent  which  poets  would  find  in- 
convenient. And  Macchiavelli,  like  the  true 
genius  he  was,  expressed  a  good-natured  and 
flattering  regret  that  his  friend  Ariosto  had  left 
him  out  of  his  list  of  congratulators,  in  a  work 
which  was  ' '  fine  throughout, ' '  and  in  '  *  some 
places  wonderful."  * 

The  great  Galileo  knew  Ariosto  nearly  by 
heart,  f 

He  is  a  poet  whom  it  may  require  a  certain 
amount  of  animal  spirits  to  relish  thoroughly. 
The  air  of  his  verse  must  agree  with  you  be- 
fore you  can  perceive  all  its  freshness  and 
vitality.  But  if  read  with  any  thing  like  Italian 
sympathy,  with  allowance  for  times  and  man- 
ners, and  with  a  sense  as  well  as  admittance  of 
the  different  kinds  of  the  beautiful  in  poetry 
(two  very  different  things),  you  will  be  almost 
as  much  charmed  with  the  "divine  Ariosto" 
as  his  countrymen  have  been  for  ages. 

*  "lyife,"  in  Panizzi,  p.  ix. 
t  "  Opere  di  Galileo,"  Padova,  1744,  vol.  i.,  p.  Ixxii. 


PULCI : 
Criticai,  Notice  of  his  Life  and  Genius. 


CRITICAL  NOTICE  OF  PULCI'S  LIFE 
AND    GENIUS. 

PULCI,  who  was  the  first  genuine  romantic 
poet,  in  point  of  time,  after  Dante,  seems, 
at  first  sight,  in  the  juxtaposition,  like  farce 
after  tragedy  ;  and  indeed,  in  many  parts  of  his 
poem,  he  is  not  only  what  he  seems,  but  follows 
his  saturnine  countrymen  with  a  peculiar  pro- 
priety of  contrast,  much  of  his  liveliest  banter 
being  directed  against  the  absurdities  of  Dante's 
theology.  But  hasty  and  most  erroneous  would 
be  the  conclusion  that  he  was  nothing  but  a 
banterer.  He  was  a  true  poet  of  the  mixed 
order,  grave  as  well  as  gay  ;  had  a  reflecting 
mind,  a  susceptible  and  most  affectionate  heart ; 
and  perhaps  was  never  more  in  earnest  than 
when  he  gave  vent  to  his  dislike  of  bigotry  in 
his  most  laughable  sallies. 

Luigi  Pulci,  son  of  Jacopo  Pulci  and  Brigida 
de'  Bardi,  was  of  a  noble  family,  so  ancient  as 
to  be  supposed  to  have  come  from  France  into 


156  Xulgi  ipulci 


Tuscany  with  his  hero  Charlemagne.  He  was 
born  in  Florence  on  the  3d  of  December,  1431, 
and  was  the  youngest  of  three  brothers,  all 
possessed  of  a  poetical  vein,  though  it  did  not 
flow  with  equal  felicity.  Bernardo,  the  eldest, 
was  the  earliest  translator  of  the  Eclogues  of 
Virgil ;  and  Lucca  wrote  a  romance  called  the 
'*  Cirijffo  Calvaneo,"  and  is  commended  for  his 
"Heroic  Epistles."  Little  else  is  known  of 
these  brothers ;  and  not  much  more,  of  Luigi 
himself,  except  that  he  married  a  lady  of  the 
name  of  Lucrezia  degli  Albizzi,  journeyed  in 
Lombardy  and  elsewhere,  was  one  of  the  most 
intimate  friends  of  Lorenzo  de  Medici  and  his 
literary  circle,  and  apparently  led  a  life  the 
most  delightful  to  a  poet,  always  meditating 
some  composition,  and  buried  in  his  woods  and 
gardens.  Nothing  is  known  of  his  latter  days. 
An  unpublished  work  of  little  credit  (Zilioli 
"On  the  Italian  Poets  "),  and  an  earlier  printed 
book,  which,  according  to  Tiraboschi,  is  of  not 
much  greater  (Scardeone  "De  Antiquitatibus 
Urbis  Patavinae  "),  say  that  he  died  miserably 
in  Padua,  and  was  refused  Christian  burial  on 
account  of  his  impieties.  It  is  not  improbable 
that,  during  the  eclipse  of  the  fortunes  of  the 
Medici  family,  after  the  death  of  Lorenzo, 
Pulci  may  have  partaken  of  its  troubles  ;  and 
there  is  certainly  no  knowing  how  badly  his  or 


XUl^f  pUlCl  t57 


their  enemies  may  have  treated  him  ;  but  mis- 
erable ends  are  a  favorite  allegation  with  theo- 
logical opponents.  The  Calvinists  affirm  of 
their  master,  the  burner  of  Servetus,  that  he 
died  like  a  saint ;  but  I  have  seen  a  biography 
in  Italian  which  attributed  the  most  horrible 
death-bed,  not  only  to  the  atrocious  Genevese, 
but  to  the  genial  Luther,  calling  them  both  the 
greatest  villains  {sceleratissimi),  and  adding 
that  one  of  them  (I  forget  which)  was  found 
dashed  on  the  floor  of  his  bedroom,  and  torn 
limb  from  limb. 

Pulci  appears  to  have  been  slender  in  person, 
with  small  eyes  and  a  ruddy  face.  I  gather  this 
from  the  caricature  of  him  in  the  poetical  paper- 
war  carried  on  between  him  and  his  friend 
Matteo  Franco,  a  Florentine  canon,  which  is 
understood  to  have  been  all  in  good  humor — 
sport  to  amuse  their  friends — a  perilous  specu- 
lation. Besides  his  share  in  these  verses,  he  is 
supposed  to  have  had  a  hand  in  his  brother's 
romance,  and  was  certainly  the  author  of  some 
devout  poems,  and  of  a  burlesque  panegyric  on 
a  country  damsel,  "La  Beca,"  in  emulation 
of  the  charming  poem  "La  Nencia,"  the  first 
of  its  kind,  written  by  that  extraordinary  per- 
son, his  illustrious  friend  Lorenzo,  who,  in  the 
midst  of  his  cares  and  glories  as  the  balancer 
of  the  power  of  Italy,  was  one  of  the  liveliest  of 


%\xiQ\  pulcl 


the  native  wits,  and  wrote  songs  for  the  people 
to  dance  to  in  Carnival  time. 

The  intercourse  between  Lorenzo  and  Pulci 
was  of  the  most  familiar  kind.  Pulci  was  six- 
teen years  older,  but  of  a  nature  which  makes 
no  such  differences  felt  between  associates.  He 
had  known  Lorenzo  from  the  latter' s  youth, 
probably  from  his  birth — is  spoken  of  in  a  tone 
of  domestic  intimacy  by  his  wife — and  is  enu- 
merated by  him  among  his  companfons  in  a 
very  special  and  characteristic  manner  in  his 
poem  on  Hawking  ("  La  Caccia  col  Falcone"), 
when,  calling  his  fellow-sportsmen  about  him, 
and  missing  Luigi,  one  of  them  says  that  he 
has  strolled  into  a  wood,  to  put  something 
which  has  struck  his  fancy  into  a  sonnet : 

"  '  I^uigi  Pulci  ov'  ^,  che  non  si  sente?  ' 

'  Egli  se  n'  ando  dianzi  in  quel  boschetto, 
Che  qualche  fantasia  ha  per  la  mente  ; 
Vorr  k  fantasticar  forse  un  sonetto.'  " 

"  And  where  's  I^uigi  Pulci?    I  saw  him." 
"Oh,  in  the  wood  there.     Gone,  depend  upon  it, 

To  vent  some  fancy  in  his  brain — so:ne  whim, 
That  will  not  let  him  rest  till  it  's  a  sonnet." 

In  a  letter  written  to  Lorenzo,  when  the 
future  statesman,  then  in  his  seventeenth  year, 
was  making  himself  personally  acquainted  with 
the  courts  of  Italy,  Pulci  speaks  of  himself  as 
struggling  hard  to  keep  down  the  poetic  pro- 


Xuigi  iC)uIci  159 

pensity  in  his  friend's  absence.  '*  If  you  were 
with  me,"  he  says,  "I  should  produce  heaps 
of  sonnets  as  big  as  the  clubs  they  make  of  the 
cherry-blossoms  for  May-day.  I  am  always 
muttering  some  verse  or  other  betwixt  my 
teeth  ;  but  I  say  to  myself,  '  My  I/orenzo  is  not 
here — he  who  is  my  only  hope  and  refuge'  ; 
and  so  I  suppress  it."  Such  is  the  first,  and  of 
a  like  nature  are  the  latest  accounts  we  possess 
of  the  sequestered  though  companionable  poet. 
He  preferred  one  congenial  listener  who  under- 
stood him,  to  twenty  critics  that  were  puzzled 
with  the  vivacity  of  his  impulses.  Most  of  the 
learned  men  patronized  by  Lorenzo  probably 
quarrelled  with  him  on  account  of  it,  plaguing 
him  in  somewhat  the  same  spirit,  though  in 
more  friendly  guise,  as  the  Delia  Cruscans  and 
others  afterwards  plagued  Tasso  ;  so  he  banters 
them  in  turn,  and  takes  refuge  from  their  criti- 
cal rules  and  commonplaces  in  the  larger 
indulgence  of  his  friend  Politian  and  the  laugh- 
ing wisdom  of  Lorenzo. 

"  So  che  andar  dirtito  mi  bisogna, 
Ch'  io  non  ci  mescolassi  una  bugia, 
Che  questa  non  e  storia  da  menzogna  ; 
Che  come  io  esco  un  passo  de  la  via, 
Chi  gracchia,  chi  riprende,  e  chi  rampogiia  : 
Ognun  poi  mi  riesce  la  pazzia  ; 
Tanto  ch'  eletto  ho  solitaria  vita, 
Che  la  turba  di  questi  e  infinita. 


i66  5Lulal  H^ulci 


"  ItS.  mia  Accademia  un  tempo,  o  mia  Ginnasia, 
S  stata  volentier  ne'  tniei  boschetti ; 
M  puossi  ben  veder  1'  Aflfrica  e  1'  Asia  : 
Vengon  le  Ninfe  con  lor  canestretti, 
K  portanmi  o  iiarciso  o  colocasia  ; 
E)  cosi  fuggo  mille  urban  dispetti : 
Si  ch'  io  non  torno  a'  vostri  Areopaghi, 
Gente  pur  sempre  di  mal  dicer  vaghi." 

I  know  I  ought  to  make  no  dereliction 
From  the  straight  path  to  this  side  or  to  that ; 

I  know  the  story  I  relate  's  no  fiction, 
And  that  the  moment  that  I  quit  some  flat, 

Folks  are  all  puff,  and  blame,  and  contradiction, 
And  swear  I  never  know  what  I  'd  be  at ; 

In  short,  such  crowds,  I  find,  can  mend  one's  poem, 

I  live  retired,  on  purpose  not  to  know  'em. 

Yes,  gentlemen,  my  only  "Academe," 

My  sole  "  Gymnasium,"  are  my  woods  and  bowers ; 
Of  Afric  and  of  Asia  there  I  dream  ; 

And  the  Nymphs  bring  me  baskets  full  of  flowers, 
Arums,  and  sweet  narcissus  from  the  stream  ; 

And  thus  my  Muse  escapeth  your  town-hours 
And  town-disdains  ;  and  I  eschew  your  bites, 
Judges  of  books,  grim  Areopagites. 

He  is  here  jesting,  as  Foscolo  has  observed,  on 
the  academy  instituted  by  Lorenzo  for  encoura- 
ging the  Greek  language,  doubtless  with  the 
laughing  approbation  of  the  founder,  who  was 
sometimes  not  a  little  troubled  himself  with  the 
squabbles  of  his  literati. 

Our  author  probably  had  good  reason  to  call 
his  illustrious  friend  his  "refuge."   The  "Mor- 


%\iiQi  ipulcf  i6i 


gante  Maggiore,"  the  work  which  has  rendered 
the  name  of  Pulci  renowned,  was  an  attempt 
to  elevate  the  popular  and  homely  narrative- 
poetry  chanted  in  the  streets  into  the  dignity 
of  a  production  that  should  last.  The  age  was 
in  a  state  of  transition  on  all  points.  The  dog- 
matic authority  of  the  schoolmen  in  matters  of 
religion,  which  prevailed  in  the  time  of  Dante, 
had  come  to  nought  before  the  advance  of 
knowledge  in  general  and  the  indifference  of 
the  court  of  Rome.  The  council  of  Trent,  as 
Crescimbeni  advised  the  critics,  had  not  then 
settled  what  Christendom  was  to  believe  ;  and 
men,  provided  they  complied  with  forms  and 
admitted  certain  main  articles,  were  allowed  to 
think,  and  even  in  great  measure  talk,  as  they 
pleased.  The  lovers  of  the  Platonic  philoso- 
phy took  the  opportunity  of  exalting  some  of 
its  dreams  to  an  influence  which  at  one  time 
was  supposed  to  threaten  Christianity  itself, 
and  which  in  fact  had  already  succeeded  in  af- 
fecting Christian  theology  to  an  extent  which 
the  scorners  of  Paganism  little  suspect.  Most 
of  these  Helenists  pushed  their  admiration  of 
Greek  literature  to  an  excess.  They  were  op- 
posed by  the  Virgilian  predilections  of  Pulci's 
friend,  Politian,  who  had  nevertheless  univer- 
sality enough  to  sympathize  with  the  delight 
the  other  took  in  their  native  Tuscan,  and  its 


i62  Xuigi  ipulcf 


liveliest  and  most  idiomatic  effusions.  From 
all  these  circumstances  in  combination  arose, 
first,  Pulci's  determination  to  write  a  poem  of  a 
mixed  order,  which  should  retain  for  him  the 
ear  of  the  many,  and  at  the  same  time  give  rise 
to  a  poetry  of  romance  worthy  of  higher  audi- 
tors ;  second,  his  banter  of  what  he  considered 
unessential  and  injurious  dogmas  of  belief,  in 
favor  of  those  principles  of  the  religion  of 
charity  which  inflict  no  contradictiori  on  the 
heart  and  understanding ;  third,  the  trouble 
which  seems  to  have  been  given  him  by  critics, 
"  sacred  and  profane,"  in  consequence  of  these 
originalities  ;  and  lastly,  a  doubt  which  has 
strangely  existed  with  some,  as  to  whether  he 
intended  to  write  a  serious  or  a  comic  poem,  or 
on  any  one  point  was  in  earnest  at  all.  One 
writer  thinks  he  cannot  have  been  in  earnest, 
because  he  opens  every  canto  with  some  pious 
invocation  ;  another  asserts  that  the  piety  itself 
is  a  banter ;  a  similar  critic  is  of  opinion  that 
to  mix  levities  with  gravities  proves  the  gravi- 
ties to  have  been  nought,  and  the  levities  all  in 
all  ;  a  fourth  allows  him  to  have  been  serious 
in  his  description  of  the  battle  of  Roncesvalles, 
but  says  he  was  laughing  in  all  the  rest  of  his 
poem ;  while  a  fifth  candidly  gives  up  the  ques- 
tion, as  one  of  those  puzzles  occasioned  by  the 
caprices  of  the  human  mind,  which  it  is  impos- 


%\xiQi  pulci  163 


sible  for  reasonable  people  to  solve.  Even  Sis- 
mondi,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  age 
in  which  Pulci  wrote,  and  who,  if  not  a  pro- 
found is  generally  an  acute  and  liberal  critic, 
confesses  himself  to  be  thus  confounded : 
"  Pulci,"  he  says,  commences  all  his  cantos  by 
a  sacred  invocation  ;  and  the  interests  of  re- 
ligion are  constantly  intermingled  with  the  ad- 
ventures of  his  story  in  a  manner  capricious 
and  little  instructive.  We  know  not  how 
to  reconcile  this  monkish  spirit  with  the  semi- 
pagan  character  of  society  under  Lorenzo  di 
Medici,  nor  whether  we  ought  to  accuse  Pulci 
of  gross  bigotry  or  of  profane  derision."*  Sis- 
mondi  did  not  consider  that  the  lively  and  im- 
passioned people  of  the  south  take  what  may 
be  called  household  liberties  with  the  objects 

*  "  Literature  of  the  South  of  Europe,"  Thomas  Ros- 
coe's  Translation,  vol.  II.,  p.  54.  For  the  opinions  of 
other  writers,  here  and  elsewhere  alluded  to,  see  Tira- 
boschi  (who  is  quite  frightened  at  him),  "  Storia  della 
Poesia  Italiana,"  cap.  V.,  sec.  25  ;  Gravina,  who  is  more 
so,  "  Delia  Ragion  Poetica  "  (quoted  in  Ginguen^,  as  be- 
low);  Crescimbeni,  "  Commentari  Intorno  all'  Istoria 
della  Poesia,"  etc.,  lib.  VI.,  cap.  3  (Matthias'  edition),  and 
the  biographical  additions  to  the  same  work,  4to,  Rome, 
1710,  vol.  II.,  part  II.,  p.  151,  where  he  says  that  Pulci  was 
perhaps  the  "  modestest  and  most  temperate  writer  "  of 
his  age  ("  il  piu  modesto  e  moderato  ") ;  Ginguene,  "His- 
toire  Ivitteraire  d'ltalie,"  torn.  IV.,  p.  214  ;  Foscolo,  in 
the  Quarterly  Review,  as  further  on ;  Panizzi  on  the 
"Romantic  Poetry  of  the  Italians,"  ditto;  Stebbing, 
"  lyives  of  the  Italian  Poets,"  second  edition,  vol.  I.;  and 
the  first  volume  of  "lyives  of  I^iterary  and  Scientific 
men,"  in  "  lyardner's  Cyclopaedia." 


i64  XuiQi  ipulci 


of  their  worship  greater  than  northerns  can 
easily  conceive  ;  that  levity  of  manner,  there- 
fore, does  not  always  imply  the  absence  of  the 
gravest  belief ;  that,  be  this  as  it  may,  the  be- 
lief may  be  as  grave  on  some  points  as  light  on 
others,  perhaps  the  more  so  for  that  reason  ; 
and  that  although  some  poems,  like  some  peo- 
ple, are  altogether  grave,  or  the  reverse,  there 
really  is  such  a  thing  as  tragi-comedy  both  in 
the  world  itself  and  in  the  representations  of  it. 
A  jesting  writer  may  be  quite  as  much  in 
earnest  when  he  professes  to  be  so,  as  a  pleas- 
ant companion  who  feels  for  his  own  or  for 
other  people's  misfortunes,  and  who  is  perhaps 
obliged  to  affect  or  resort  to  his  very  pleasantry 
sometimes,  because  he  feels  more  acutely  than 
the  gravest.  The  sources  of  tears  and  smiles 
lie  close  to ;  aye,  and  help  to  refine  one  another. 
If  Dante  had  been  capable  of  more  levity,  he 
would  have  been  guilty  of  less  melancholy  ab- 
surdities. If  Rabelais  had  been  able  to  weep 
as  well  as  to  laugh,  and  to  love  as  well  as  to  be 
licentious,  he  would  have  had  faith  and  there- 
fore support  in  something  earnest,  and  not 
have  been  obliged  to  place  the  consummation 
of  all  things  in  the  wine  bottle.  People's  every- 
day experiences  might  explain  to  them  the 
greatest  apparent  inconsistencies  of  Pulci's 
muse,  if  habit  itself  did  not  blind  them  to  the 


%mQi  ipulcf  165 


illustration.  Was  nobody  ever  present  in  a 
well-ordered  family,  when  a  lively  conversation 
having  been  interrupted  by  the  announcement 
of  dinner,  the  company,  after  listening  with 
the  greatest  seriousness  to  a  grace  delivered 
with  equal  seriousness,  perhaps  by  a  clergy- 
man, resumed  it  the  instant  afterwards  in  all 
its  gaiety,  with  the  first  spoonful  of  soup  ? 
Well,  the  sacred  invocations  at  the  beginning 
of  Pulci's  cantos  were  compliances  of  the  like 
sort  with  a  custom.  They  were  recited  and 
listened  tojust  as  gravely  at  Lorenzo  di  Medici's 
table  ;  and  yet  neither  compromised  the  recit- 
ers nor  were  at  all  associated  with  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  fare  that  ensued.  So  with  regard 
to  the  intermixture  of  grave  and  gay  through- 
out the  poem.  How  many  campaigning  ad- 
ventures have  been  written  by  gallant  officers 
whose  animal  spirits  saw  food  for  gaiety  in  half 
the  circumstances  that  occurred,  and  who  could 
crack  a  jest  and  a  helmet  perhaps  with  almost 
equal  vivacity,  and  yet  be  as  serious  as  the 
gravest  at  a  moment's  notice,  mourn  heartily 
over  the  deaths  of  their  friends,  and  shudder 
with  indignation  and  horror  at  the  outrages 
committed  in  a  captured  city  ?  It  is  thus  that 
Pulci  writes,  full  no  less  of  feeling  than 
of  whim  and  mirth.  And  the  whole  honest 
round  of  humanity  not  only  warrants  his  plan. 


i66  Xuiai  ipulci 

but  in  the  twofold  sense  of  the  word  embraces 
it. 

If  any  thing  more  were  necessary  to  show  the 
gravity  with  which  our  author  addressed  him- 
self to  his  subject,  it  is  the  fact,  related  by  him- 
self, of  its  having  been  recommended  to  him 
by  Lorenzo's  mother,  Lucrezia  Tornabuoni,  a 
good  and  earnest  woman,  herself  a  poetess, 
who  wrote  a  number  of  sacred  narratives,  and 
whose  virtues  he  more  than  once  records  with 
the  greatest  respect  and  tenderness.  The  * '  Mor- 
gan te"  concludes  with  an  address  respecting  this 
lady  to  the  Virgin,  and  with  a  hope  that  her 
"  devout  and  sincere  "  spirit  may  obtain  peace 
for  him  in  Paradise.  These  are  the  last  words 
in  the  book.  Is  it  credible  that  expressions  of 
this  kind,  and  employed  on  such  an  occasion, 
could  have  had  no  serious  meaning?  or  that 
Lorenzo  listened  to  such  praises  of  his  mother 
as  to  a  jest  ? 

I  have  no  doubt  that,  making  allowance  for 
the  age  in  which  he  lived,  Pulci  was  an  excel- 
lent Christian.  His  orthodoxy,  it  is  true,  was 
not  the  orthodoxy  of  the  times  of  Dante  or  St. 
Dominic,  nor  yet  of  that  of  the  Council  of 
Trent.  His  opinions  respecting  the  mystery  of 
the  Trinity  appear  to  have  been  more  like  those 
of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  than  of  Archdeacon  Travis. 
And  assuredly  he  agreed  with  Origen  respecting 


Xuigi  ipulci  167 


eternal  punishment,  rather  than  with  Calvin 
and  Mr,  Toplady.  But  a  man  may  accord  with 
Newton,  and  yet  be  thought  not  unworthy  of 
the  * '  starry  spheres. ' '  He  may  think,  with 
Origen,  that  God  intends  all  his  creatures  to  be 
ultimately  happy,"^  and  yet  be  considered  as 
loving  a  follower  of  Christ  as  a  "dealer  of 
damnation  round  the  land,"  or  the  burner  of  a 
fellow-creature. 

Pulci  was  in  advance  of  his  time  on  more 
subjects  than  one.  He  pronounced  the  exist- 
ence of  a  new  and  inhabited  world,  before  the 
appearance  of  Columbus,  f  He  made  the  con- 
clusion, doubtless,  as  Columbus  did,  from  the 
speculations  of  more  scientific  men,  and  the  ru- 
mors of  seamen  ;  but  how  rare  are  the  minds 
that  are  foremost  to  throw  aside  even  the  most 
innocent  prejudices,  and  anticipate  the  enlarge- 
ments of  the  public  mind  !  How  many  also  are 
calumniated  and  persecuted  for  so  doing,  whose 
memories,  for  the  same  identical  reason,  are 
loved,  perhaps  adored,  by  the  descendants  of 
the  calumniators  !  In  a  public  library,  in  Pul- 
ci's  native  place,  is  preserved  a  little  withered 
relic,  to  which  the  attention  of  the  visitor  is 
drawn  with  reverential  complacency.  It  stands, 
pointing  upwards,  under  a  glass-case,  looking 
like  a  mysterious  bit  of  parchment ;  and  is  the 
*  Canto  XXV.  i  Idem.  • 


i68  Xulgi  ipulci 


finger  of  Galileo  ;  of  that  Galileo,  whose  hand, 
possessing  that  finger,  is  supposed  to  have  been 
tortured  by  the  Inquisition  for  writing  what 
every  one  now  believes.  He  was  certainly  per- 
secuted and  imprisoned  by  the  Inquisition. 
Milton  saw  and  visited  him  under  the  restraint 
of  that  scientific  body  in  his  own  house.  Yet 
Galileo  did  more  by  his  disclosures  of  the  stars 
towards  elevating  our  ideas  of  the  Creator,  than 
all  the  so-called  saints  and  polemics  that 
screamed  at  one  another  in  the  pulpits  of  Bast 
and  West. 

Like  the  "Commedia"  of  Dante,  Pulci's 
*'  Commedia"  (for  such  also  in  regard  to  its  gen- 
eral cheerfulness,*  and  probably  to  its  mediocrity 
of  style,  he  calls  it)  is  a  representative  in  great 
measure  of  the  feeling  and  knowledge  of  his 
time  ;  and  though  not  entirely  such  in  a  learned 
and  eclectic  sense,  and  not  to  be  compared  to 
that  sublime  monstrosity  in  point  of  genius 
and  power,  is  as  superior  to  it  in  liberal  opinion 
and  in  a  certain  pervading  lovingness,  as  the 
author's  affectionate  disposition,  and  his  coun- 
try's advance  in  civilization,  combined  to  render 

*  Canto  xxvii. ,  stanza  2. 

"  S'  altro  ajuto  qui  non  si  dimostra, 
Sara  pur  tragedia  la  istoria  nostra. 

"  Ed  io  pur  commedia  pensato  avea 
Iscriver  del  mio  Carlo  finalmente, 
Ed  Alcuin  cosi  mi  promettea,"  etc. 


XuiQi  pulcf  169 


it.  The  editor  of  the  ''  Parnaso  Italiano  "  had 
reason  to  notice  this  engaging  personal  charac- 
ter in  our  author's  work.  He  says,  speaking  of 
the  principal  romantic  poets  of  Italy,  that  the 
reader  will  "  admire  Tasso,  will  adore  Ariosto, 
but  will  love  Pulci."*  And  all  minds,  in 
which  lovingness  produces  love,  will  agree  with 
him. 

The  "  Morgan te  Maggiori  "  is  a  history  of  the 
fabulous  exploits  and  death  of  Orlando,  the 
great  hero  of  Italian  romance,  and  of  the  wars 
and  calamities  brought  on  his  fellow  Paladins 
and  their  sovereign  Charlemagne  by  the  envy, 
ambition,  and  treachery  of  the  misguided  mon- 
arch's favorite,  Gan  of  Maganza  (Mayence), 
Count  of  Poictiers.  It  is  founded  on  the 
pseudo-history  of  Archbishop  Turpin,  which, 
though  it  received  the  formal  sanction  of  the 
Church,  is  a  manifest  forgery,  and  became  such 
a  jest  with  the  wits,  that  they  took  a  delight  in 
palming  upon  it  their  most  incredible  fictions. 
The  title  ("  Morgante  the  Great  ")  seems  to  have 
been  either  a  whim  to  draw  attention  to  an  old 
subject,  or  the  result  of  an  intention  to  do  more 
with  the  giant  so  called  than  took  place ;  for 
though  he  is  a  conspicuous  actor  in  the  earlier 
part  of  the  poem,  he  dies  when  it  is  not  much 

*  "  In  fine  tu  adorerai  I'Ariosto,  tu  ammirerei  il  Tasso, 
matu  amerai  il  Pulci."— "  Pam.  Ital.,"  vol.  ix.,  p.  344. 


170  %\xiQi  f)ulc( 


more  than  half  completed.  Orlando,  the 
champion  of  the  faith,  is  the  real  hero  of  it, 
and  Gan  the  anti-hero  or  vice.  Charlemagne, 
the  reader  hardly  need  be  told,  is  represented, 
for  the  most  part,  as  a  very  different  person 
from  what  he  appears  in  history.  In  truth,  as 
Ellis  and  Panizzi  have  shown,  he  is  either  an 
exaggeration  (still  misrepresented)  of  Charles 
Martel,  the  Armorican  chieftain,  who  conquered 
the  Saracens  at  Poictiers,  or  a  concretion  of  all 
the  Charleses  of  the  Carlovingian  race,  wise  and 
simple,  potent  and  weak.* 

The  story  may  be  thus  briefly  told.  Orlando 
quits  the  court  of  Charlemagne  in  disgust,  but  is 
always  ready  to  return  to  it  when  the  emperor 
needs  his  help.  The  best  Paladins  follow,  to 
seek  him.  He  meets  with  and  converts  the 
giant  Morgante,  whose  aid  he  receives  in  many 
adventures,  among  which  is  the  taking  of  Bab- 
ylon. The  other  Paladins,  his  cousin  Rinaldo 
especially,  have  their  separate  adventures,  all 
more  or  less  mixed  up  with  the  treacheries  and 
thanklessness  of  Gan  (for  they  assist  even  him), 
and  the  provoking  trust  reposed  in  him  by 
Charlemagne  ;  and  at  length  the  villain  crowns 
his  infamy  by  luring  Orlando  with  most  of  the 

*E)llis'  "  Specimens  of  Early  English  Poetical  Ro- 
mances," vol.  ii.,  p.  287 ;  and  Panizzi's  "  Essay  on  the 
Romantic  Narrative  Poetry  of  the  Italians,"  in  his  edi- 
tion of  Boiardo  and  Ariosto,  vol.  i.,  p.  113. 


XufQi  fi^::ci  ^T73 


Paladins  into  the  pa«:"  of  Roncesvalles,  where 
the  hero  himself  and  almost  all  his  companions 
are  slain  by  the  armies  of  Gan's  fellow-traitor, 
Marsilius,  King  of  Spain.  They  die,  however, 
victorious  ;  and  the  two  royal  and  noble  scoun- 
drels, by  a  piece  of  prosaical  justice  better  than 
poetical,  are  despatched  like  common  malefac- 
tors with  a  halter. 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  pure  invention  in  the 
whole  of  this  enlargement  of  old  ballads  and 
chronicles,  except  the  characters  of  another 
giant,  and  of  a  rebel  angel  ;  for  even  Morgante's 
history,  though  told  in  a  very  different  man- 
ner, has  its  prototype  in  the  fictions  of  the 
pretended  archbishop.*  The  Paladins  are  well 
distinguished  from  one  another ;  Orlando  as 
foremost  alike  in  prowess  and  magnanimity, 
Rinaldo  by  his  vehemence,  Ricciardetto  by  his 
amours,  Astolfo  by  an  ostentatious  rashness  and 
self-committal ;  but  in  all  these  respects  they 
appear  to  have  been  made  to  the  author's  hand. 
Neither  does  the  poem  exhibit  any  prevailing 

*  "  De  Vita  Caroli  Magni  et  Rolandi  Historia,"  etc., 
cap.  xviii.,  p.  39  (Ciampi's  edition).  The  giant  in  Tur- 
pin  is  named  Ferracutus.  or  Fergus.  He  was  of  the  race 
of  Goliath,  had  the  strength  of  forty  men,  and  was 
twenty  cubits  high.  During  the  suspension  of  a  mortal 
combat  with  Orlando,  they  discuss  the  mysteries  of  the 
Christian  faith,  which  its  champion  explains  by  a  variety 
of  similes  and  the  most  beautiful  beggings  of  the  (ques- 
tion ;  after  which  the  giant  stakes  the  credit  of  their  re- 
spective beliefs  on  the  event  of  their  encounter. 


17C  %\xiQi  pulci 


force  of  imagery,  or  of  expression,  apart  from 
popular  idiomatic  phraseology;  still  less, 
though  it  has  plenty  of  infernal  magic,  does  it 
present  us  with  any  magical  enchantments  of 
the  alluring  order,  as  in  Ariosto  ;  or  with  love 
stories  as  good  as  Boiardo's,  or  even  with  any 
of  the  luxuries  of  landscape  and  description 
that  are  to  be  found  in  both  of  those  poets  ;  al- 
beit, in  the  fourteenth  canto,  there  is  a  long 
catalogue  raisonn^  of  the  whole  animal  crea- 
tion, which  a  lady  has  worked  for  Rinaldo  on  a 
pavilion  of  silk  and  gold. 

To  these  negative  faults  must  be  added  the 
positive  ones  of  too  many  trifling,  unconnected, 
and  uninteresting  incidents  (at  least  to  readers 
who  cannot  taste  the  flavor  of  the  racy  Tuscan 
idiom) ;  great  occasional  prolixity,  even  in  the 
best  as  well  as  worst  passages,  not  excepting 
Orlando's  dying  speeches;  harshness  in  spite 
of  his  fluency  (according  to  Foscolo),  and 
even  bad  grammar ;  too  many  low  or  over- 
familiar  forms  of  speech  (so  the  graver  critics 
allege,  though,  perhaps,  from  want  of  animal 
spirits  or  a  more  comprehensive  discernment) ; 
and  lastly  (to  say  nothing  of  the  question  as 
to  the  gravity  or  levity  of  the  theology),  the 
strange  exhibition  of  whole  successive  stanzas, 
containing  as  many  questions  or  afiirmations  as 
lines,  and  commencing  each  line  with  the  same 


%niQi  puici  173 


words.  They  meet  the  eye  like  palisadoes,  or  a 
file  of  soldiers,  and  turn  truth  and  pathos  itself 
into  a  jest.  They  were  most  likely  imitated 
from  the  popular  ballads.  The  following  is  the 
order  of  words  in  which  a  young  lady  thinks 
fit  to  complain  of  a  desert,  into  which  she  has 
been  carried  away  by  a  giant.  After  seven 
initiatory  O's  addressed  to  her  friends  and  to 
life  in  general,  she  changes  the  key  into  E  : 

"  E)'  questa  la  mia  patria  dov'  io  nacqui  ? 
E'  questo  il  mio  palagio  e  '1  mio  castello  ? 
E)'  questo  il  nido  ov'  alcun  tempo  giacqui  ? 
"E;"  questo  il  padre  e  '1  mio  dolce  fratello  ? 
"E;"  questo  il  popol  dov'  io  tanto  piacqui  ? 
K'  questo  il  regno  giusto  antico  e  bello  ? 
E'  questo  il  porto  de  la  mia  salute  ? 
!^'  questo  il  prem.io  d'  ogni  mia  virtute  ? 

"  Ove  son  or  le  mie  purpuree  veste  ? 
Ove  son  or  le  gemme  e  le  ricchezze  ? 
Ove  son  or  gi^  le  nottume  feste  ? 
Ove  son  or  le  mie  delicatezze  ? 
Ove  son  or  le  mie  compagne  oneste  ? 
Ove  son  or  le  fuggite  dolcezze  ? 
Ove  son  or  le  damigelle  mie  ? 
Ove  son,  dico  ?  om&,  non  son  gi^  quie."  * 

Is  this  the  country,  then,  where  I  was  bom  ? 
Is  this  my  palace,  and  my  castle  this  ? 
Is  this  the  nest  I  woke  in  every  morn  ? 
Is  this  my  father's  and  my  brother's  kiss  ? 

*=  Canto  xix..  st.  21. 


174  Xuiai  pulcl 


Is  this  the  land  they  bred  me  to  adorn  ? 
Is  this  the  good  old  bower  of  all  my  bliss  ? 
Is  this  the  haven  of  my  youth  and  beauty  ? 
Is  this  the  sure  reward  of  all  my  duty? 

Where  now  are  all  my  wardrobes  and  their  treasures? 
Where  now  are  all  my  riches  and  my  rights  ? 
Where  now  are  all  the  midnight  feasts  and  measures? 
Where  now  are  all  the  delicate  delights  ? 
Where  now  are  all  the  partners  of  my  pleasures? 
Where  now  are  all  the  sweet  of  sounds  and  sights  ? 
Where  now  are  all  my  maidens  ever  near  ? 
Where,  do  I  say  ?    Alas,  alas,  not  here  ! 

There  are  seven  more  "  where  nows,"  includ- 
ing lovers,  and  "proffered  husbands,"  and 
"romances,"  and  ending  with  the  startling 
question  and  answer, — the  counterpoint  of  the 
former  close, — 

"  Ove  son  1'  aspre  selve  e  i  lupi  adesso 
K  gli  orsi,  e  i  draghi,  e  i  tigri  ?    Son  qui  presso." 

Where  are  all  the  woods  and  forests  drear, 
Wolves,  tigers,  bears  and  dragons  ?    Alas,  here  ! 

These  are  all  very  natural  thoughts,  and  such, 
no  doubt,  as  would  actually  pass  through  the 
mind  of  the  young  lady,  in  the  candor  of  deso- 
lation ;  but  the  mechanical  iteration  of  her 
mode  of  putting  them  renders  them  irresistibly 
ludicrous.  It  reminds  us  of  the  wager  laid  by 
the  poor  queen  in  the  play  of  "Richard  the 
Second,"  when  she  overhears  the  discourse  of 
the  gardener  : 


XufQf  pUlCi  t7S 


"  My  wretchedness  unto  a  row  of  pins, 
They  '11  talk  of  state." 

Did  Pulci  expect  his  friend  Lorenzo  to  keep  a 
grave  face  during  the  recital  of  these  passages  ? 
Or  did  he  flatter  himself  that  the  comprehen- 
sive mind  of  his  hearer  could  at  one  and  the 
same  time  be  amused  with  the  banter  of  some 
old  song  and  the  pathos  of  the  new  one  ?  * 

*  When  a  proper  name  happens  to  be  a  part  of  the 
tautology,  the  look  is  still  more  extraordinary.  Orlando 
is  remonstrating  with  Rinaldo  on  his  being  unseason- 
ably in  love  : 

"  Ov'  &,  Rinaldo,  la  tua  gagliardia  ? 

Ov'  6,  Rinaldo,  il  tuo  sommopotere  ? 

Ov'  e,  Rinaldo,  il  tuo  senno  di  pria  ? 

Ov'  e,  Rinaldo,  il  tuo  antivedere  ? 

Ov'  ^,  Rinaldo,  la  tua  fantasia? 

Ov'  e,  Rinaldo,  1'  arme  e  '1  tuo  destriere  ? 

Ov'  6,  Rinaldo,  la  tua  gloria  e  fama  ? 

Ov'  h,  Rinaldo,  il  tuo  core?  a  la  dama." 

Canto  xvi.,  st.  50. 

Oh  where,  Rinaldo,  is  thy  gagliardize  ? 

Oh  where,  Rinaldo,  is  thy  might  indeed? 

Oh  where,  Rinaldo,  thy  repute  for  wise  ? 

Oh  where,  Rinaldo,  thy  sagacious  heed  ? 

Oh  where,  Rinaldo,  thy  free-thoughted  eyes  ? 

Oh  where,  Rinaldo,  thy  good  arms  and  steed? 

Oh  where,  Rinaldo,  thy  renown  and  glory  ? 

Oh  where,  Rinaldo,  thou  f — In  a  love-story." 
The  incessant  repetition  of  the  names  in  the  burdens 
of  modern  songs  is  hardly  so  bad  as  this.  The  single 
line  (questions  and  answers  in  the  Greek  drama  were 
nothing  to  it.  Yet  there  is  a  still  more  extraordinary 
play  upon  words  in  canto  xxiii.,  st.  49,  consisting  of  the 
description  of  a  hermitage.  It  is  the  only  one  of  the 
kind  which  I  remember  in  the  poem,  and  would  have 
driven  some  of  our  old  hunters  after  alliteration  mad 
with  envy  : — 

' '  Iva  casa  cosa  parea  bretta  e  brutta , 
Vinta  dal  vento ;  e  la  natta  e  la  notte 


176  Xuiai  ipuicf 


The  want  of  both  good  love-episodes  and  of 
descriptions  of  external  nature,  in  the  "Mor- 
gante  "  is  remarkable  ;  for  Pulci's  tenderness  of 
heart  is  constantly  manifest,  and  he  describes 
himself  as  being  almost  absorbed  in  his  woods. 
That  he  understood  love  well  in  all  its  force 
and  delicacy  is  apparent  from  a  passage  con- 
nected with  this  pavilion.  The  fair  embroiderer, 
in  presenting  it  to  her  idol  Rinaldo,  under- 
values it  as  a  gift  which  his  great  heart  never- 
theless, will  not  disdain  to  accept ;  adding, 
with  the  true  la^4shment  of  the  passion,  that 

Stilla  le  stelle,  ch'  a  tetto  era  tutto  : 

Del  pane  appena  ne  dette  ta'  dotte  : 

Pere  avea  pure,  e  qualche  fratta  frutta  ; 

K  svina  e  svena  di  botto  una  botte  : 

Poscia  per  pesci  lasche  prese  a  /'  esca  ; 

Ma  il  letto  allotta  a  la  frasca  ivifresca." 

This  holy  hole  was  a  vile  ihin-hnilt  thing, 

Blown  by  the  blast ;  the  night  nought  else  o'erhead 

But  starring  stars  the  rude  roof  entering ; 

Their  sup  of  supper  was  no  splendid  spread ; 

Poor  pears  their  fare,  and  such-/z^^  libelling 

Of  Quantum  suflf. ;— their  butt  all  but ;— bad  bread ;~ 

A  flash  oifish  instead  oi  flush  oi  flesh  ; 

Their  bed  a  frisk  al-fresco,  freezing  fresh. 
Really,  if  Sir  Philip  Sidney  and  other  serious  and  ex- 
quisite gentlemen  had  not  sometimes  taken  a  positively 
grave  interest  in  the  like  pastimes  of  paronomasia,  one 
should  hardly  conceive  it  possible  to  meet  with  them 
even  in  tragi-comedy.  Did  Pulci  find  these  also  in  his 
ballad-authorities  ?  If  his  Greek-loving  critics  made  ob- 
jections here,  they  had  the  advantage  of  him :  unless 
indeed  they  too,  in  their  Alexandrian  predilections,  had 
a  sneaking  regard  for  certain  shapings  of  verse  into 
altars  and  hatchets,  such  as  have  been  charged  upon 
Theocritus  himself,  and  which  might  be  supposed  to 
warrant  any  other  conceit  on  occasion. 


%\xiQi  ipulcf  177 


"she  wishes  she  could  give  him  the  sun  "  ;  and 
that  if  she  were  to  say,  after  all,  that  it  was  her 
own  hands  which  had  worked  the  pavilion,  she 
should  be  wrong,  for  Love  himself  did  it.  Ri- 
naldo  wishes  to  thank  her,  but  is  so  struck  with 
her  magnificence  and  affection,  that  the  words 
die  on  his  lips.  The  way  also  in  which  an- 
other of  these  loving  admirers  of  Paladins  con- 
ceives her  affection  for  one  of  them,  and  per- 
suades  a  vehemently  hostile  suitor  quietly  to 
withdraw  his  claims  by  presenting  him  with  a 
ring  and  a  graceful  speech,  is  in  a  taste  as  high 
as  any  thing  in  Boiardo,  and  superior  to  the 
more  animal  passion  of  the  love  in  their  great 
successor.*  Yet  the  tenderness  of  Pulci  rather 
shows  itself  in  the  friendship  of  the  Paladins  for 
one  another,  and  in  perpetual  little  escapes  of 
generous  and  affectionate  impulse.  This  is  one 
of  the  great  charms  of  the  "  Morgante."  The 
first  adventure  in  the  book  is  Orlando's  en- 
counter with  three  giants  in  behalf  of  a  good 

*See,  in  the  original,  the  story  of  Meridiana,  canto  vii. 
King  Manfredonio  has  come  in  loving  hostility  against 
her  to  endeavor  to  win  her  aflfection  by  his  prowess. 
He  finds  her  assisted  by  the  Paladins,  and  engaged  by 
her  own  heart  to  Uliviero  ;  and  in  the  despair  of  his  dis- 
comfiture, expresses  a  wish  to  die  by  her  hand.  Meri- 
diana,  with  graceful  pity,  begs  his  acceptance  of  a  jewel, 
and  recommends  him  to  go  home  with  his  army,  to 
which  he  grievingly  consents.  This  indeed  is  beautiful ; 
and  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  given  an  abstract  of  it,  as  a 
specimen  of  what  Pulci  could  have  done  in  this  way, 
had  he  chosen. 


178  Xufgl  ipulcf 


abbot,  in  whom  lie  discovers  a  kinsman  ;  and 
this  goodness  and  relationship  combined  move 
the  Achilles  of  Christendom  to  tears.  Mor- 
gante,  one  of  these  giants,  who  is  converted, 
becomes  a  sort  of  squire  to  his  conqueror,  and 
takes  such  a  liking  to  him,  that,  seeing  him  one 
day  deliver  himself  not  without  peril  out  of  the 
clutches  of  a  devil,  he  longs  to  go  and  set  free 
the  whole  of  the  other  world  from  devils.  In- 
deed there  is  no  end  to  his  aifection  for  him. 
Rinaldo  and  other  Paladins,  meantime,  cannot 
rest  till  they  have  set  out  in  search  of  Orlando. 
They  never  meet  or  part  with  him  without 
manifesting  a  tenderness  proportionate  to  their 
valor, — the  old  Homeric  candor  of  emotion. 
The  devil  Ashtaroth  himself,  who  is  a  great 
and  proud  devil,  assures  Rinaldo,  for  whom  he 
has  conceived  a  regard,  that  there  is  good  feel- 
ing [gentilessa]  even  in  hell ;  and  Rinaldo,  not 
to  hurt  the  feeling,  answers  that  he  has  no 
doubt  of  it,  or  of  the  capability  of  "  friendship  " 
in  that  quarter ;  and  he  says  he  is  as  "  sorry 
to  part  with  him  as  with  a  brother. ' '  The  pas- 
sage will  be  found  in  our  abstract.  There  are  no 
such  devils  as  these  in  Dante ;  though  Milton 
has  something  like  them  : 

"  Devil  with  devil  damn'd 
Finn  concord  holds  :  men  only  disagree." 

It  is  supposed  that  the  character  of  Ashtaroth, 


Xuigt  ipulcl  179 


whicli  is  a  very  new  and  extraordinary  one,  and 
does  great  honor  to  the  daring  goodness  of 
Pulci's  imagination,  was  not  lost  upon  Milton, 
who  was  not  only  acquainted  with  the  poem, 
but  expressly  intimates  the  pleasure  he  took  in 
it.*  Rinaldo  advises  this  devil,  as  Bums  did 
Lucifer,  to  "take  a  thought  and  mend."  Ash- 
taroth,  who  had  been  a  seraph,  takes  no  notice 
of  the  advice,  except  with  a  waiving  of  the 
recollection  of  happier  times.  He  bids  the 
hero  farewell,  and  says  he  has  only  to  summon 
him  in  order  to  receive  his  aid.  This  retention 
of  a  sense  of  his  former  angelical  dignity  has 
been  noticed  by  Foscolo  and  Panizzi,  the  two 
best  writers  on  these  Italian  poems,  f    A  Cal- 

*  "  Perhaps  it  was  from  that  same  politic  drift  that  the 
devil  whipt  St.  Jerome  in  a  lenten  dream  for  reading- 
Cicero  ;  or  else  it  was  a  fantasm  bred  by  the  fever  which 
had  then  seized  him.  For  had  an  angel  been  his  disci- 
pliner,  unless  it  were  for  dwelling  too  much  upon  Cicer- 
onianisms,  and  had  chastised  the  reading  and  not  the 
vanity,  it  had  been  plainly  partial ;  first  to  correct  him 
for  grave  Cicero,  and  not  for  scurrile  Plautus,  whom  he 
confesses  to  have  been  reading  not  long  before ;  next,  to 
correct  him  only,  and  let  so  many  more  ancient  fathers 
wax  old  in  those  pleasant  and  florid  studies  without  the 
lash  of  such  a  tutoring  apparition  ;  insomuch  that  Basil 
teaches  how  some  good  use  may  be  made  of  '  Margites,' 
a  sportful  poem,  not  now  extant,  writ  by  Homer;  and 
why  not  then  of '  Morgante,'  an  Italian  romance  much 
to  the  same  purpose?  " — "  Areopagitica,  a  Speech  for  the 
Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Printing,"  Prose  Works,  folio, 
1697,  p.  378.  I  quote  the  passage  as  extracted  by  Mr. 
Merivale  in  the  preface  to  his  "Orlando  in  Ronces- 
valles,"— Poems,  vol.  ii.,  p.  41. 

^Utsup.,  p.  222.  Foscolo 's  remark  is  to  be  found  in  his 
admirable   article   on   the    "  Narrative  and   Romantic 


i8o  Xutgf  ipUlCt 


vinist  would  call  the  expression  of  the  sympathy 
''hardened."  A  humanist  knows  it  to  be  the 
result  of  a  spirit  exquisitely  softened.  An  un- 
bounded tenderness  is  the  secret  of  all  that  is 
beautiful  in  the  serious  portion  of  our  author's 
genius.  Orlando's  good-natured  giant  weeps 
even  for  the  death  of  the  scoundrel  Margutte ; 
and  the  awful  hero  himself,  at  whose  death  na- 
ture is  convulsed  and  the  heavens  open,  begs 
his  dying  horse  to  forgive  him  if  ever  he  has 
wronged  it. 

A  charm  of  another  sort  in  Pulci,  and  yet,  in 
most  instances,  perhaps,  owing  the  best  part  of 
its  charmingness  to  its  being  connected  with 
the  same  feeling,  is  his  wit.  Foscolo,  it  is  true, 
says  it  is,  in  general,  more  severe  than  refined  ; 
and  it  is  perilous  to  differ  with  such  a  critic  on 
such  a  point ;  for  much  of  it,  unfortunately,  is 
lost  to  a  foreign  reader,  in  consequence  of  its 
dependance  on  the  piquant  old  Tuscan  idiom, 
and  on  popular  sayings  and  allusions.  Yet  I 
should  think  it  impossible  for  Pulci  in  general 
to  be  severe  at  the  expense  of  some  more  agree- 
able quality  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  the  portion  of 
his  wit  most  obvious  to  a  foreigner  may  claim, 
if  not  to  have  originated,  at  least  to  have  been 
very  like  the  style  of  one  who  was  among  its 

Poems  of  the  Italians,"  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  vol. 
xxi.,  p.  525. 


%\iiQi  ipulcf 


declared  admirers, — and  who  was  a  very  polished 
writer, — Voltaire.  It  consists  in  treating  an 
absurdity  with  an  air  as  if  it  were  none  ;  or  as 
if  it  had  been  a  pure  matter  of  course,  erron- 
eously mistaken  for  an  absurdity.  Thus  the 
good  abbot,  whose  monastery  is  blockaded  by 
the  giants  (for  the  virtue  and  simplicity  of  his 
character  must  be  borne  in  mind),  after  observ- 
ing that  the  ancient  fathers  in  the  desert  had 
not  only  locusts  to  eat,  but  manna,  which  he 
has  no  doubt  was  rained  down  on  purpose  from 
heaven,  laments  that  the  "relishes"  provided 
for  himself  and  his  brethren  should  have  con- 
sisted of  "showers  of  stones."  The  stones, 
while  the  abbot  is  speaking,  come  thundering 
down,  and  he  exclaims:  "For  God's  sake, 
knight,  come  in,  for  the  manna  is  falling ! " 
This  is  exactly  in  the  style  of  the  "  Dictionnaire 
Philosophique."  So  when  Margutte  is  asked 
what  he  believes  in,  and  says  he  believes  in 
"neither  black  nor  blue,"  but  in  a  good  capon, 
"whether  roast  or  boiled,"  the  reader  is  forcibly 
reminded  of  Voltaire's  Traveller,  Scarmen^ado, 
who,  when  he  is  desired  by  the  Tartars  to  declare 
which  of  their  two  parties  he  is  for,  the  party 
of  the  black-mutton  or  the  white-mutton,  an- 
swers, that  the  dish  is  "equally  indifferent  to 
him,  provided  it  is  tender. ' '  Voltaire,  however, 
does  injustice  to  Pulci  when  he  pretends  that, 


182/  !lLuigi  ipulci 


in  matters  of  belief,  he  is  like  himself, — a  mere 
scoffer.  The  friend  of  Lucrezia  Tornabuoni  has 
evidently  the  tenderest  veneration  for  all  that  is 
good  and  lovely  in  the  Catholic  faith  ;  and  what- 
ever liberties  he  might  have  allowed  himself  in 
professed  extravaganzas^  when  an  age  without 
Church-authority  encouraged  them,  and  a  rev- 
erend canon  could  take  part  in  those  (it  must  be 
acknowledged)  unseemly  "high  jinks,"  he 
never,  in  the  "Morgante,"  when  speaking  in 
his  own  person,  and  not  in  that  of  the  worst 
characters,  intimates  disrespect  towards  any 
opinion  which  he  did  not  hold  to  be  irrelevant 
to  a  right  faith.  It  is  observable  that  his  freest 
expressions  are  put  in  the  mouth  of  the  giant 
Margutte,  the  lowest  of  these  characters,  who  is 
an  invention  of  the  author's,  and  a  most  extra- 
ordinary personage.  He  is  the  first  unmitigated 
blackguard  in  fiction,  and  is  the  greatest  as  well 
as  first.  Pulci  is  conjectured,  with  great  prob- 
ability, to  have  designed  him  as  a  caricature  of 
some  real  person  ;  for  Margutte  is  a  Greek  who, 
in  point  of  morals,  has  been  horribly  brought 
up,  and  some  of  the  Greek  refugees  in  Italy 
were  greatly  disliked  for  the  cynicism  of  their 
manners  and  the  grossness  of  their  lives.  Mar- 
gutte is  a  glutton,  a  drunkard,  a  liar,  a  thief, 
and  a  blasphemer.  He  boasts  of  having  every 
vice,  and  no  virtue   except  fidelity ;   which  is 


Eui^i  ipulci  183 


meant  to  reconcile  Morgante  to  his  company ; 
but,  though  the  latter  endures  and  even  likes  it 
for  his  amusement,  he  gives  him  to  understand 
that  he  looks  on  his  fidelity  as  only  securable 
by  the  bastinado,  and  makes  him  the  subject 
of  his  practical  jokes.  The  respectable  giant 
Morgante  dies  of  the  bite  of  a  crab,  as  if  to  show 
on  what  trivial  chances  depends  the  life  of  the 
strongest.  Margutte  laughs  himself  to  death  at 
sight  of  a  monkey  putting  his  boots  on  and  off; 
as  though  the  good-natured  poet  meant  at  once 
to  express  his  contempt  of  a  merely  and  grossly 
anti-serious  mode  of  existence,  and  his  consid- 
eration, nevertheless,  towards  the  poor  selfish 
wretch  who  had  had  no  better  training. 

To  this  wit  and  this  pathos  let  the  reader  add 
a  style  of  singular  ease  and  fluency, — rhymes 
often  the  most  unexpected,  but  never  at  a  loss, 
— a  purity  of  Tuscan  acknowledged  by  every 
body,  and  ranking  him  among  the  authorities 
of  the  language, — and  a  modesty  in  speaking 
of  his  own  pretentions  equalled  only  by  his  en- 
thusiastic extolments  of  genius  in  others  ;  and 
the  reader  has  before  him  the  lively  and  affect- 
ing, hopeful,  charitable,  large-hearted  Luigi 
Pulci,  the  precursor,  and,  in  some  respects,  ex- 
emplar, of  Ariosto,  and,  in  Milton's  opinion,  a 
poet  worth  reading  for  the  "good  use"  that 
may  be  made  of  him.     It  has  been  strangely 


i84  %\X\Qi  flUlCt 


supposed  that  his  friend  Politian,  and  Ficino 
the  Platonist,  not  merely  helped  him  with  their 
books  (as  he  takes  a  pride  in  telling  us),  but 
wrote  a  good  deal  of  the  latter  part  of  the  "  Mor- 
gan te,"  particularly  the  speculation  in  matters 
of  opinion.  As  if  (to  say  nothing  of  the  differ- 
ence of  style)  a  man  of  genius,  however  lively, 
did  not  go  through  the  gravest  reflections  in  the 
course  of  his  life,  or  could  not  enter  into  any 
theological  or  metaphysical  question,  to  which 
he  chose  to  direct  his  attention.  Animal  spirits 
themselves  are  too  often  but  a  counterbalance 
to  the  most  thoughtful  melancholy  ;  and  one  fit 
of  jaundice  or  hypochondria  might  have  enabled 
the  poet  to  see  more  visions  of  the  unknown 
and  the  inscrutable  in  a  single  day,  than  perhaps 
ever  entered  the  imagination  of  the  elegant 
Latin  scholar,  or  even  the  disciple  of  Plato. 


HUMORS  OF  GIANTS. 


HUMORS  OF  GIANTS. 

TWEIvVE  Paladins  had  the  Emperor  Char- 
lemagne in  his  court;  and  the  most  wise 
and  famous  of  them  was  Orlando.  It  is  of  him 
I  am  about  to  speak,  and  of  his  friend  Mor- 
gante,  and  of  Gan  the  traitor,  who  beguiled 
him  to  his  death  in  Roncesvalles,  where  he 
sounded  his  horn  so  mightily  after  the  dolorous 
rout. 

It  was  Easter,  and  Charles  had  all  his  court 
with  him  in  Paris,  making  high  feast  and  tri- 
umph. There  was  Orlando,  the  first  among 
them,  and  Ogier  the  Dane,  and  Astolfo  the 
Englishman,  and  Ansuigi ;  and  there  came  An- 
giolin  of  Bayonne,  and  Uliviero,  and  the  gentle 
Berlinghieri ;  and  there  was  also  Avolio  and 
Avino,  and  Otho  of  Normandy,  and  Richard, 
and  the  wise  Namo,  and  the  aged  Salamon,  and 
Walter  of  Monlione,  and  Baldwin  who  was  the 
son  of  the  wretched  Gan.  The  good  emperor 
was  too  happy,  and  oftentimes  fairly  groaned 
for  joy  at  seeing  all  his  Paladins  together. 


Xulai  t>vilci 


But  Fortune  stands  watching  in  secret  to 
baffle  our  designs.  While  Charles  was  thus 
hugging  himself  with  delight,  Orlando  gov- 
erned every  thing  at  court,  and  this  made  Gan 
burst  with  envy ;  so  that  he  began  one  day  talk- 
ing with  Charles  after  the  following  manner  : 
*  *  Are  we  always  to  have  Orlando  for  our  mas- 
ter? I  have  thought  of  speaking  to  you  about 
it  a  thousand  times.  Orlando  has  a  great  deal 
too  much  presumption.  Here  are  we,  counts, 
dukes,  and  kings,  at  your  service,  but  not  at 
his  ;  and  we  have  resolved  not  to  be  governed 
any  longer  by  one  so  much  younger  than  our- 
selves. You  began  in  Aspramont  to  give  him 
to  understand  how  valiant  he  was,  and  that  he 
did  great  things  at  that  fountain  ;  whereas,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  good  Gerard,  I  know  very 
well  where  the  victory  would  have  been.  The 
truth  is,  he  has  an  eye  upon  the  crown.  This 
Charles  is  the  worthy  who  has  deserved  so 
much  !  All  your  generals  are  afflicted  at  it.  As 
for  me,  I  shall  repass  those  mountains  over 
which  I  came  to  you  with  seventy-two  counts. 
Do  you  take  him  for  a  Mars  ? " 

Orlando  happened  to  hear  these  words  as  he 
sat  apart,  and  it  displeased  him  with  the  lord  of 
Poictiers  that  he  should  speak  so,  but  much 
more  that  Charles  should  believe  him.  He 
would  have  killed  Gan,  if  Uliviero  had  not  pre- 


1)umor6  ot  Giants  i8q 

vented  him  and  taken  his  sword  out  of  his  hand  ; 
nay,  he  would  have  killed  Charlemagne  ;  but 
at  last  he  went  from  Paris  by  himself,  raging 
with  scorn  and  grief  He  borrowed,  as  he  went, 
of  Ermillina  the  wife  of  Ogier,  the  Dane's 
sword  Cortana  and  his  horse  Rondel,  and  pro- 
ceeded on  his  way  to  Brava.  His  wife,  Alda  the 
Fair,  hastened  to  embrace  him  ;  but  while  she 
was  saying,  "Welcome,  my  Orlando,"  he  was 
going  to  strike  her  with  his  sword,  for  his  head 
was  bewildered,  and  he  took  her  for  the  traitor. 
The  fair  Alda  marvelled  greatly,  but  Orlando 
recollected  himself,  and  she  took  hold  of  the 
bridle,  and  he  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  told 
her  all  that  had  passed,  and  rested  himself  with 
her  for  some  days. 

He  then  took  his  leave,  being  still  carried 
away  by  his  disdain,  and  resolved  to  pass  over 
into  Heathendom ;  and  as  he  rode,  he  thought, 
every  step  of  the  way,  of  the  traitor  Gan  ; 
and  so,  riding  on  wherever  the  road  took 
him,  he  reached  the  confines  between  the 
Christian  countries  and  the  Pagan,  and  came 
upon  an  abbey  situate  in  a  dark  place  in  a 
desert. 

Now  above  the  abbey  was  a  great  mountain, 
inhabited  by  three  fierce  giants,  one  of  whom 
was  named  Passamonte,  another  Alabastro,  and 
the  third  Morgante  ;  and  these  giants  used  to 


iQo  Xufgf  pulci 


disturb  the  abbey  by  throwing  things  down 
upon  it  from  the  mountain  with  slings,  so  that 
the  poor  little  monks  could  not  go  out  to  fetch 
wood  or  water.  Orlando  knocked,  but  nobody 
would  open  till  the  abbot  was  spoken  to.  At 
last  the  abbot  came  himself,  and  opening  the 
door  bade  him  welcome.  The  good  man  told 
him  the  reason  of  the  delay,  and  said  that  since 
the  arrival  of  the  giants  they  had  been  so  per- 
plexed that  they  did  not  know  what  to  do.  * '  Our 
ancient  fathers  in  the  desert,"  quoth  he,  "were 
rewarded  according  to  their  holiness.  It  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  they  lived  only  upon  lo- 
custs; doubtless,  it  also  rained  manna  upon 
them  from  heaven  ;  but  here  one  is  regaled  with 
stones,  which  the  giants  pour  on  us  from  the 
mountain.  These  are  our  nice  bits  and  relishes. 
The  fiercest  of  the  three,  Morgante,  plucks 
up  pines  and  other  great  trees  by  the  roots, 
and  casts  them  on  us."  While  they  were 
talking  thus  in  the  cemetery,  there  came  a 
stone  which  seemed  as  if  it  would  break  Ron- 
del's back. 

"For  God's  sake,  cavalier,"  said  the  abbot, 
**  come  in,  for  the  manna  is  falling." 

"My  dear  abbot,"  answered  Orlando,  "this 
fellow,  methinks,  does  not  wish  to  let  my  horse 
feed ;  he  wants  to  cure  him  of  being  restive ; 
the  stone  seems  as  if  it  came  from  a  good  arm." 


Ibumors  of  Giants  191 


"Yes,"  replied  the  holy  father,  "I  did  not 
deceive  you.  I  think,  some  day  or  other,  they 
will  cast  the  mountain  itself  on  us." 

Orlando  quieted  his  horse,  and  then  sat  down 
to  a  meal ;  after  which  he  said  :  "Abbot,  I  must 
go  and  return  the  present  that  has  been  made 
to  my  horse."  The  abbot  with  great  tender- 
ness endeavored  to  dissuade  him,  but  in  vain  ; 
upon  which  he  crossed  him  on  the  forehead, 
and  said  :  "Go  then  ;  and  the  blessing  of  God 
be  with  you." 

Orlando  scaled  the  mountain,  and  came  where 
Passamonte  was,  who,  seeing  him  alone,  meas- 
ured him  with  his  eyes,  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  stay  with  him  for  a  page,  promising  to 
make  him  comfortable.  "Stupid  Saracen," 
said  Orlando,  "  I  come  to  you,  according  to  the 
will  of  God,  to  be  your  death,  and  not  your  foot- 
boy.  You  have  displeased  his  servants  here, 
and  are  no  longer  to  be  endured,  dog  that  you 
are  ! " 

The  giant,  finding  himself  thus  insulted,  ran 
in  a  fury  to  his  weapons  ;  and  returning  to  Or- 
lando, slung  at  him  a  large  stone,  which  struck 
him  on  the  head  with  such  force,  as  not  only 
made  his  helmet  ring  again,  but  felled  him  to 
the  earth.  Passamonte  thought  he  was  dead. 
"What  could  have  brought  that  paltry  fellow 
here?  "  said  he,  as  he  turned  away. 


192  Xuigl  pulcl 


But  Christ  never  forsakes  his  followers.  While 
Passamonte  was  going  away,  Orlando  recovered, 
and  cried  aloud:  "How  now,  giant?  do  you 
fancy  you  have  killed  me  ?  Turn  back,  for  un- 
less you  have  wings,  your  escape  is  out  of  the 
question,  dog  of  a  renegade ! "  The  giant, 
greatly  marv^elling,  turned  back  ;  and  stooping 
to  pick  up  a  stone,  Orlando,  who  had  Cortana 
naked  in  his  hand,  cleft  his  skull ;  upon  which, 
cursing  Mahomet,  the  monster  tumbled,  dying 
and  blaspheming,  to  the  ground.  Blaspheming 
fell  the  sour-hearted  and  cruel  wretch  ;  but  Or- 
lando, in  the  meanwhile,  thanked  the  Father 
and  the  Word. 

The  Paladin  went  on,  seeking  for  Alabastro, 
the  second  giant ;  who,  when  he  saw  him,  en- 
deavored to  pluck  up  a  great  piece  of  stony 
earth  by  the  roots.  "  Ho,  ho  !  "  cried  Orlando, 
"you  too  are  for  throwing  stones,  are  you?" 
Then  Alabastro  took  his  sling,  and  flung  at  him 
so  large  a  fragment  as  forced  Orlando  to  defend 
himself,  for  if  it  had  struck  him,  he  would  no 
more  have  needed  a  surgeon  * ;  but  collecting 
his  strength,  he  thrust  his  sword  into  the  giant's 
breast,  and  the  loggerhead  fell  dead. 

*  A  common  pleasantry  in  the  old  romances.  "  Galaor 
went  in,  and  then  the  halberders  attacked  him  on  one 
side,  and  the  knight  on  the  other.  He  snatched  an  axe 
from  one,  and  turned  to  the  knight  and  smote  him,  so 
that  he  had  no  need  of  a  surgeon."— South  ey's  "  Amadis 
of  Gaul,"  vol.  i.,  p.  146. 


Ibumors  ot  (Slants  193 

Now  Morgante,  the  only  surviving  brother, 
had  a  palace  made,  after  giants'  fashion,  of 
earth,  and  boughs,  and  shingles,  in  which  he 
shut  himself  up  at  night.  Orlando  knocked, 
and  disturbed  him  from  his  sleep,  so  that  he 
came  staring  to  the  door  like  a  madman,  for  he 
had  had  a  bewildering  dream. 

"  Who  knocks  there?  "  quoth  he. 

"You  will  know  too  soon,"  answered  Or- 
lando ;  "I  am  come  to  make  you  do  penance 
for  your  sins,  like  your  brothers.  Divine  Prov- 
idence has  sent  me  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  the 
monks  upon  the  whole  set  of  you.  Doubt  it 
not ;  for  Passamonte  and  Alabastro  are  already 
as  cold  as  a  couple  of  pilasters." 

"Noble  knight,"  said  Morgante,  "do  me  no 
ill ;  but  if  you  are  a  Christian,  tell  me  in  courtesy 
who  you  are." 

"  I  will  satisfy  you  of  my  faith,"  replied  Or- 
lando; "I  adore  Christ;  and  if  you  please,  you 
may  adore  him  also." 

"I  have  had  a  strange  vision,"  replied  Mor- 
gante, with  a  low  voice  :  "I  was  assailed  by  a 
dreadful  serpent,  and  called  upon  Mahomet  in 
vain ;  then  I  called  upon  your  God  who  was 
crucified,  and  he  succored  me,  and  I  was  de- 
livered from  the  serpent ;  so  I  am  disposed  to 
become  a  Christian." 

"If  you  keep  in  this  mind,"  returned  Or- 


[94  Xulgi  ipulcf 


lando,  ''you  shall  worship  the  true  God,  and 
come  with  me  and  be  my  companion,  and  I 
will  love  you  with  perfect  love.  Your  idols 
are  false  and  vain  ;  the  true  God  is  the  God  of 
the  Christians.  Deny  the  unjust  and  villainous 
worship  of  your  Mahomet,  and  be  baptized  in 
the  name  of  my  God,  who  alone  is  worthy." 

**  I  am  content,"  said  Morgan te. 

Then  Orlando  embraced  him,  and  said,  "  I 
will  lead  you  to  the  abbey. ' ' 

' '  Let  us  go  quickl}', ' '  replied  Morgante,  for  he 
was  impatient  to  make  his  peace  with  the 
monks. 

Orlando  rejoiced,  sajdng :  "My  good  brother, 
and  devout  withal,  you  must  ask  pardon  of  the 
abbot ;  for  God  has  enlightened  you  and  ac- 
cepted you,  and  he  would  have  you  practise 
humility. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  said  Morgante,  "thanks  to  you,  your 
God  shall  henceforth  be  my  God.  Tell  me  your 
name,  and  afterwards  dispose  of  me  as  you  will. ' ' 
And  he  told  him  that  he  was  Orlando. 

"  Blessed  Jesus  be  thanked,"  said  the  giant, 
'  *  for  I  have  always  heard  you  called  a  perfect 
knight ;  and  as  I  said,  I  will  follow  you  all  my 
lifelong." 

And  so  conversing,  they  went  together  tow- 
ards the  abbey  ;  and  by  the  way  Orlando  talked 
with  Morgante  of  the  dead  giants,  and  sought 


Ibumors  ot  (Biante  195 

to  comfort  him,  saying  they  had  done  the 
monks  a  thousand  injuries,  and  "  our  Scripture 
says  the  good  shall  be  rewarded  and  the  evil 
punished,  and  we  must  submit  to  the  will  of 
God.  The  doctors  of  our  Church,"  continued 
he,  **  are  all  agreed,  that  if  those  who  are  glori- 
fied in  heaven  were  to  feel  pity  for  their  miser- 
able kindred  who  lie  in  such  horrible  confusion 
in  hell,  their  beatitude  would  come  to  nothing; 
and  this,  you  see,  would  plainly  be  unjust  on  the 
part  of  God.  But  such  is  the  firmness  of  their 
faith,  that  what  appears  good  to  Him  appears 
good  to  them.  Do  what  He  may,  they  hold  it 
to  be  done  well,  and  that  it  is  impossible  for 
Him  to  err  ;  so  that  if  their  very  fathers  and 
mothers  are  suffering  everlasting  punishment, 
it  does  not  disturb  them  an  atom.  This  is  the 
custom,  I  assure  you,  in  the  choirs  above."  * 


* ' '  Sonsi  i  nostri  dottori  accordati, 
Pigliando  tutti  una  conclusione, 
Che  que'  che  son  nel  ciel  glorificati, 
S'  avessin  nel  pensier  compassione 
De'  miseri  parent!  che  dannati 
Son  ne  lo  inferno  in  gran  confusione, 
La  lor  felicity,  nulla  sarebbe  : 
E)  vedi  che  qui  ingiusto  Iddio  parebbe. 

"  Ma  egli  anno  posto  in  Gesii  ferma  spene 
E  tanto  pare  a  lor,  quanto  a  lui  pare  : 
Afferman  cio  ch'  e'  fa.  che  facci  bene, 
E  che  non  possi  in  nessun  modo  errare  : 
Se  padre  o  madre  S  ne  1'  eterne  pene, 
Di  questo  non  si  posson  conturbare  : 
Che  quel  che  piace  a  Dio,  sol  place  a  loro  : 
Questo  s'  osserva  ne  1'  eterno  coro. 


196  %\xiQi  ipulci 


"  A  word  to  the  wise,"  said  Morgante  ;  "you 
shall  see  if  I  grieve  for  my  brethren,  and 
whether  or  no  I  submit  to  the  will  of  God,  and 
behave  myself  like  an  angel.  So  dust  to  dust ; 
and  now  let  us  enjoy  ourselves.  I  will  cut  off 
their  hands,  all  four  of  them,  and  take  them  to 
these  holy  monks,  that  they  may  be  sure  they 
are  dead,  and  not  fear  to  go  out  alone  into  the 
desert.  They  will  then  be  certain  also  that  the 
Lord  has  purified  me,  and  taken  me  out  of 
darkness,  and  assured  to  me  the  kingdom  of 
heaven."  So  saying,  the  giant  cut  off  the 
hands  of  his  brethren,  and  left  their  bodies  to 
the  beasts  and  birds. 

They  went  to  the  abbey,  where  the  abbot  was 
expecting  Orlando  in  great  anxiety  ;  but  the 
monks  not  knowing  what  had  happened,  ran 


"Al  savio  suol  bastar  poche  parole, 
Disse  Morgante  :  tu  il  potrai  vedere, 
De'  miei  fratelli,  Orlando,  se  mi  duole, 
B  s'  io  m'  accorder6  di  Dio  al  volere, 
Come  tu  di  che  in  ciel  servar  si  suole  : 
Morti  CO'  morti ;  or  pensiam  di  godere  : 
lovo'  tagliar  le  mam  a  tutti  quanti, 
E  porterolle  a  que'  monaci  santi." 
This  doctrine,  which  is  horrible  blasphemy  in  the  eyes 
of  natural  feeling,  is  good  reasoning  in  Catholic  and 
Calvinistic  theology.    They  first  make  the  Deity's  ac- 
tions a  necessity  from  more  barbarous  assumption,  then 
square  them  according  to  a  dictum  of  the  Councils,  then 
compliment  him  by  laying  all  that  he  has  made  good 
and  kindly  within  us  mangled  and  mad  at  his  feet. 
Meantime  they  think  themselves  qualified  to  denounce 
Moloch  and  Jiigghanaut. 


Ibumore  of  ©iants  197 

to  the  abbot  in  great  haste  and  alarm,  saying, 
"  Will  you  suffer  this  giant  to  come  in  ?"  And 
when  the  abbot  saw  the  giant,  he  changed 
countenance.  Orlando,  perceiving  him  thus 
disturbed,  made  haste  and  said  :  "Abbot,  peace 
be  with  you  !  The  giant  is  a  Christian  ;  he  be- 
lieves in  Christ,  and  has  renounced  his  false 
prophet,  Mahomet."  And  Morgante,  showing 
the  hands  in  proof  of  his  faith,  the  abbot 
thanked  Heaven  with  great  contentment  of 
mind. 

The  abbot  did  much  honor  to  Morgante,  com- 
paring him  with  St.  Paul ;  and  they  rested  there 
many  days.  One  day,  wandering  over  the 
house,  they  entered  a  room  where  the  abbot 
kept  a  quantity  of  armor  ;  and  Morgante  saw  a 
bow  which  pleased  him,  and  he  fastened  it  on. 
Now  there  was  in  the  place  a  great  scarcity  of 
water ;  and  Orlando  said,  like  his  good  brother : 
"Morgante,  I  wish  you  would  fetch  us  some 
water."  "Command  me  as  you  please,"  said 
he  ;  and  placing  a  great  tub  on  his  shoulders, 
he  went  towards  a  spring  at  which  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  drink,  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain. Having  reached  the  spring,  he  suddenly 
heard  a  great  noise  in  the  forest.  He  took  an 
arrow  from  the  quiver,  placed  it  in  the  bow, 
and  raising  his  head,  saw  a  great  herd  of  swine 
rushing  towards   the   spring  where   he   stood. 


igS  Xuigl  ipulci 


Morgante  shot  one  of  them  clean  through  the 
head,  and  laid  him  sprawling.  Another,  as  if 
in  revenge,  ran  towards  the  giant,  without  giv- 
ing him  time  to  use  a  second  arrow  ;  so  he  lent 
him  a  cuff  on  the  head  which  broke  the  bone, 
and  killed  him  also ;  which  stroke  the  rest 
seeing,  fled  in  haste  through  the  valley.  Mor- 
gante then  placed  the  tub  full  of  water  upon 
one  of  his  shoulders  and  the  two  porkers  on 
the  other,  and  returned  to  the  abbey,  which 
was  at  some  distance,  without  spilling  a  drop. 

The  monks  were  delighted  to  see  the  fresh 
water,  but  still  more  the  pork  ;  for  there  is  no 
animal  to  whom  food  comes  amiss.  They  let 
their  breviaries  therefore  go  to  sleep  awhile, 
and  fell  heartily  to  work,  so  that  the  cats  and 
dogs  had  reason  to  lament  the  polish  of  the 
bones. 

"But  why  do  we  stay  here  doing  nothing," 
said  Orlando  one  day  to  Morgante  ;  and  he 
shook  hands  with  the  abbot,  and  told  him  he 
must  take  his  leave.  "I  must  go,"  said  he, 
' '  and  make  up  for  lost  time.  I  ought  to  have 
gone  long  ago,  my  good  father ;  but  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  I  feel  within  me  at  the  content  I 
have  enjoyed  here  in  your  company.  I  shall 
bear  in  mind  and  in  heart  with  me  for  ever  the 
abbot,  the  abbey,  and  this  desert,  so  great  is 
the  love  they  have  raised  in  me  in  so  short  a 


Ibumors  ot  Giants  199 

time.  The  great  God,  who  reigns  above,  must 
thank  you  for  me  in  his  own  abode.  Bestow  on 
us  your  benediction,  and  do  not  forget  us  in 
your  prayers. ' ' 

When  the  abbot  heard  the  County  Orlando 
talk  thus,  his  heart  melted  within  him  for  ten- 
derness, and  he  said:  "Knight,  if  we  have 
failed  in  any  courtesy  due  to  your  prowess  and 
great  gentleness  (and  indeed  what  we  have 
done  has  been  but  little),  pray  put  it  to  the  ac- 
count of  our  ignorance,  and  of  the  place  which 
we  inhabit.  We  are  but  poor  men  of  the  clois- 
ter, better  able  to  regale  you  with  masses  and 
orisons  and  paternosters,  than  with  dinners  and 
suppers.  You  have  so  taken  this  heart  of  mine 
by  the  many  noble  qualities  I  have  seen  in 
you,  that  I  shall  be  with  you  still  wherever 
you  go ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  you  will  always 
be  present  here  with  me.  This  seems  a  contra- 
diction, but  you  are  wise  and  will  take  my 
meaning  discreetly.  You  have  saved  the  very 
life  and  spirit  within  us  ;  for  so  much  perplex- 
ity had  those  giants  cast  about  our  place,  that 
the  way  to  the  Lord  among  us  was  blocked  up. 
May  He  who  sent  you  into  these  woods  reward 
the  justice  and  piety  by  which  we  are  delivered 
from  our  trouble.  Thanks  be  to  Him  and  to 
you.  We  shall  all  be  disconsolate  at  your  de- 
parture.   We  shall  grieve  that  we  cannot  detain 


Xui^f  ipulci 


you  among  us  for  montlas  and  years  ;  but  you 
do  not  wear  these  weeds  ;  you  bear  arms  and 
armor  ;  and  you  may  possibly  merit  as  well  in 
carrying  those  as  in  wearing  this  cap.  You 
read  your  Bible,  and  your  virtue  has  been  the 
means  of  showing  the  giant  the  way  to  heaven. 
Go  in  peace,  then,  and  prosper,  whoever  you 
may  be.  I  do  not  seek  your  name  ;  but  if  ever 
I  am  asked  who  it  was  that  came  among  us,  I 
shall  say  that  it  was  an  angel  from  God.  If 
there  is  any  armor  or  other  thing  that  you 
would  have,  go  into  the  room  where  it  is,  and 
take  it." 

"If  you  have  any  armor  that  would  suit  my 
companion,"  replied  Orlando,  "that  I  will  ac- 
cept with  pleasure." 

"  Come  and  see,"  said  the  abbot;  and  they 
went  to  a  room  that  was  full  of  armor.  Mor- 
gante  looked  all  about,  but  could  find  nothing 
large  enough,  except  a  rusty  breast-plate,  which 
fitted  him  marvellously.  It  had  belonged  to  an 
enormous  giant,  who  was  killed  there  of  old  by 
Orlando's  father,  Milo  of  Angrante.  There  was 
a  painting  on  the  wall  which  told  the  whole 
story :  how  the  giant  had  laid  cruel  and  long 
siege  to  the  abbey  ;  and  how  he  had  been  over- 
thrown at  last  by  the  great  Milo.  Orlando  see- 
ing this,  said  within  himself:  "O  God,  unto 
whom  all  things  are  known,    how  came  Milo 


Ibumors  of  (Slants  201 

here,  who  destroyed  this  giant  ? ' '  And  reading 
certain  inscriptions  which  were  there,  he  could 
no  longer  keep  a  firm  countenance,  but  the 
tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

When  the  abbot  saw  Orlando  weep,  and  his 
brow  redden,  and  the  light  of  his  eyes  become 
child-like  for  sweetness,  he  asked  him  the 
reason  ;  but,  finding  him  still  dumb  with  emo- 
tion, he  said,  "  I  do  not  know  whether  you  are 
overpowered  by  admiration  of  what  is  painted 
in  this  chamber.  You  must  know  that  I  am  of 
high  descent,  though  not  through  lawful  wed- 
lock. I  believe  I  may  say  I  am  nephew  or  sis- 
ter's son  to  no  less  a  man  than  that  Rinaldo, 
who  was  so  great  a  Paladin  in  the  world,  though 
my  own  father  was  not  of  lawful  mother.  An- 
suigi  was  his  name ;  my  own,  out  in  the  world, 
was  Chiaramonte  ;  and  this  Milo  was  my  father's 
brother.  Ah,  gentle  baron,  for  blessed  Jesus' 
sake,  tell  me  what  name  is  yours  ! " 

Orlando,  all  glowing  with  affection,  and 
bathed  in  tears,  replied,  * '  My  dear  abbot  and 
cousin,  he  before  you  is  your  Orlando."  Upon 
this,  they  ran  for  tenderness  into  each  other's 
arms,  weeping  on  both  sides  with  a  sovereign 
affection,  too  high  to  be  expressed.  The  abbot 
was  so  overjoyed,  that  he  seemed  as  if  he  would 
never  have  done  embracing  Orlando.  "By 
what  fortune,"  said  the  knight,  **  do  I  find  you 


202  Xuiat  Ipulcf 


in  this  obscure  place  ?  Tell  me,  my  dear  abbot, 
how  was  it  you  became  a  monk,  and  did  not 
follow  arms,  like  myself  and  the  rest  of  us  ?  " 

"It  is  the  will  of  God,"  replied  the  abbot, 
hastening  to  give  his  feelings  utterance.  "  Many 
and  divers  are  the  paths  he  points  out  for  us 
by  which  to  arrive  at  his  city  ;  some  walk  it 
with  the  sword — some  with  pastoral  staff.  Na- 
ture makes  the  inclination  different,  and  there- 
fore there  are  different  ways  for  us  to  take  : 
enough  if  we  all  arrive  safely  at  one  and  the 
same  place,  the  last  as  well  as  the  first.  We  are 
all  pilgrims  through  many  kingdoms.  We  all 
wish  to  go  to  Rome,  Orlando  ;  but  we  go  pick- 
ing out  our  journey  through  different  roads. 
Such  is  the  trouble  in  body  and  soul  brought 
upon  us  by  that  sin  of  the  old  apple.  Day  and 
night  am  I  here  with  my  book  in  hand — day 
and  night  do  you  ride  about,  holding  your 
sword,  and  sweating  oft  both  in  sun  and  shadow  ; 
and  all  to  get  round  at  last  to  the  home  from 
which  we  departed — I  say,  all  out  of  anxiety 
and  hope  to  get  back  to  our  home  of  old."  And 
the  giant  hearing  them  talk  of  these  things, 
shed  tears  also. 

The  Paladin  and  the  giant  quitted  the  abbey, 
the  one  on  horseback  and  the  other  on  foot, 
and  journeyed  through  the  desert  till  they  came 
to  a  magnificent  castle,  the  door  of  which  stood 


Ibumors  of  ©iants  203 


open.  They  entered,  and  found  rooms  furnished 
in  the  most  splendid  manner — beds  covered 
with  cloth  of  gold,  and  floors  rejoicing  in  varie- 
gated marbles.  There  was  even  a  feast  pre- 
pared in  the  saloon,  but  nobody  to  eat  it,  or  to 
speak  to  them, 

Orlando  suspected  some  trap,  and  did  not 
quite  like  it  ;  but  Morgante  thought  nothing 
worth  considering  but  the  feast.  "Who  cares 
for  the  host,"  said  he,  "when  there's  such  a 
dinner?  Let  us  eat  as  much  as  we  can,  and 
bear  off  the  rest.  I  always  do  that  when  I  have 
the  picking  of  castles." 

They  accordingly  sat  down,  and  being  very 
hungry  with  their  day's  journey,  devoured 
heaps  of  the  good  things  before  them,  eating 
with  all  the  vigor  of  health,  and  drinking  to  a 
pitch  of  weakness.*  They  sat  late  in  this  man- 
ner enjoying  themselves,  and  then  retired  for 
the  night  into  rich  beds. 

But  what  was  their  astonishment  in  the  morn- 
ing at  finding  that  they  could  not  get  out  of  the 
place !  There  was  no  door.  All  the  entrances 
had  vanished,  even  to  any  feasible  window. 

"We  must  be  dreaming,"  said  Orlando. 

"My  dinner  was  no  dream,  I  '11  swear,"  said 

*  "  E)  furno  al  here  infermi,  al  mangiar  sani." 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  right  in  my  construction  of  this 
passage.     Perhaps  Pulci  means  to  say,  that  they  had  the 
appetites  of  men  in  health,  and  the  thirst  of  a  fever. 


204  Xuigi  ipulci 


the  giant.  ' '  As  for  the  rest,  let  it  be  a  dream  if 
it  pleases." 

Continuing  to  search  up  and  down,  they  at 
length  found  a  vault  with  a  tomb  in  it ;  and  out 
of  the  tomb  came  a  voice,  saying  :  "  You  must 
encounter  with  me,  or  stay  here  for  ever.  Lift, 
therefore,  the  stone  that  covers  me." 

"  Do  you  hear  that?  "  said  Morgante  ;  **  I  '11 
have  him  out,  if  it  's  the  devil  himself.  Perhaps 
it 's  two  devils.  Filthy-dog  and  Foul-mouth,  or 
Itching  and  Kvil-tail."  * 

"  Have  him  out,"  said  Orlando,  *'  whoever  he 
is,  even  were  it  as  many  devils  as  were  rained 
out  of  heaven  into  the  centre." 

Morgante  lifted  up  the  stone,  and  out  leaped, 
surely  enough,  a  devil  in  the  likeness  of  a 
dried-up  dead  body,  black  as  a  coal.  Orlando 
seized  him,  and  the  devil  grappled  with  Orlando. 
Morgante  was  for  joining  him,  but  the  Paladin 
bade  him  keep  back.  It  was  a  hard  struggle, 
and  the  devil  grinned  and  laughed,  till  the 
giant,  who  was  a  master  of  wrestling,  could 
bear  it  no  longer  :  so  he  doubled  him  up,  and, 
in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  thrust  him  back  into 
the  tomb. 

"You'll  never  get  out,"  said  the  devil,  "if 
you  leave  me  shut  up. ' ' 

*Caygnazzo,  Farfarello,  I,ibicocco,  and  Malacoda ; 
names  of  devils  in  Dante. 


Ibumors  of  (Biants  205 

**  Why  not  ?  "  inquired  the  Paladin. 

*'  Because  your  giant's  baptism  and  my  de- 
liverance must  go  together,"  answered  the 
devil.  "  If  he  is  not  baptized,  you  can  have  no 
deliverance  ;  and  if  I  am  not  delivered,  I  can 
prevent  it  still,  take  my  word  for  it." 

Orlando  baptized  the  giant.  The  two  com- 
panions then  issued  forth,  and  hearing  a  mighty 
noise  in  the  house,  looked  back,  and  saw  it  all 
vanished. 

**  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart,"  said  Morgante, 
"to  go  down  to  those  same  regions  below,  and 
make  all  the  devils  disappear  in  like  manner. 
Why  should  n't  we  do  it  ?  We  'd  set  free  all  the 
poor  souls  there.  Egad,  I  'd  cut  off  Minos'  tail 
— I  'd  pull  out  Charon's  beard  by  the  roots — 
make  a  sop  of  Phlegyas,  and  a  sup  of  Phle- 
gethon — unseat  Pluto — kill  Cerberus  and  the 
Furies  with  a  punch  of  the  facea-piece — and  set 
Beelzebub  scampering  like  a  dromedary." 

"  You  might  find  more  trouble  than  you  wot 
of,"  quoth  Orlando,  "and  get  worsted  besides. 
Better  keep  the  straight  path,  than  thrust  your 
head  into  out-of-the-way  places. ' ' 

Morgante  took  his  lord's  advice,  and  went 
straightforward  with  him  through  many  great 
adventures,  helping  him  with  loving  good-will 
as  often  as  he  was  permitted,  sometimes  as  his 
pioneer,  and  sometimes  as  his  finisher  of  trou- 


2o6  Xulgf  ipulci 


blesome  work,  such  as  a  slaughter  of  some 
thousands  of  infidels.  Now  he  chucked  a  spy 
into  a  river — now  felled  a  rude  ambassador  to 
the  earth  (for  he  did  n't  stand  upon  ceremony) 
— now  cleared  a  space  round  him  in  battle  with 
the  clapper  of  an  old  bell  which  he  had  found 
at  the  monastery — now  doubled  up  a  king  in 
his  tent,  and  bore  him  away,  tent  and  all,  and  a 
Paladin  with  him,  because  he  would  not  let  the 
Paladin  go. 

In  the  course  of  these  services,  the  giant  was 
left  to  take  care  of  a  lady,  and  lost  his  master 
for  a  time ;  but  the  office  being  at  an  end,  he 
set  out  to  rejoin  him,  and,  arriving  at  a  cross- 
road, met  with  a  very  extraordinary  personage. 

This  was  a  giant  huger  than  himself,  swarthy- 
faced,  horrible,  brutish.  He  came  out  of  a  wood, 
and  appeared  to  be  journeying  somewhere. 
Morgante,  who  had  the  great  bell-clapper  above- 
mentioned  in  his  hand,  struck  it  on  the  ground 
with  astonishment,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Who 
the  devil  is  this  ?  "  and  then  set  himself  on  a 
stone  by  the  way-side  to  observe  the  creature. 

"What's  your  name  traveller?"  said  Mor- 
gante, as  it  came  up. 

"My  name  's  Margutte,"  said  the  phe- 
nomenon. "  I  intended  to  be  a  giant  myself, 
but  altered  my  mind,  you  see,  and  stopped  half- 
way ;  so  that  I  am  only  twenty  feet  or  so." 


Ibumors  of  (31ant5  207 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  quoth  his  brother- 
giant.  * '  But  tell  me,  are  you  Christian  or 
Saracen?  Do  you  believe  in  Christ  or  in 
Apollo  f' 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  the  other,  '*I 
believe  neither  in  black  nor  blue,  but  in  a  good 
capon,  whether  it  be  roast  or  boiled.  I  believe 
sometimes  also  in  butter,  and,  when  I  can  get 
it,  in  new  wine,  particularly  the  rough  sort ;  but, 
above  all,  I  believe  in  wine  that  's  good  and 
old.  Mahomet's  prohibition  of  it  is  all  moon- 
shine. I  am  the  son,  you  must  know,  of  a  Greek 
nun  and  a  Turkish  bishop  ;  and  the  first  thing 
I  learned  was  to  play  the  fiddle.  I  used  to  sing 
Homer  to  it.  I  was  then  concerned  in  a  brawl 
in  a  mosque,  in  which  the  old  bishop  somehow 
happened  to  be  killed  ;  so  I  tied  a  sword  to  my 
side,  and  went  to  seek  my  fortune,  accompanied 
by  all  the  possible  sins  of  Turk  and  Greek. 
People  talk  of  the  seven  deadly  sins  ;  but  I  have 
seventy-seven  that  never  quit  me,  summer  or 
winter  ;  by  which  you  may  judge  of  the  amount 
of  my  venial  ones.  I  am  a  gambler,  a  cheat,  a 
ruflSan,  a  highwayman,  a  pickpocket,  a  glutton 
(at  beef  or  blows) ;  have  no  shame  whatever ; 
love  to  let  everybody  know  what  I  can  do  ;  lie, 
besides,  about  what  I  can't  do ;  have  a  particular 
attachment  to  sacrilege  ;  swallow  perjuries  like 
figs  ;  never  give  a  farthing  to  anybody,  but  beg 


2o8  Xuiaf  ipulcf 


of  everybody,  and  abuse  them  into  the  bargain  ; 
look  upon  not  spilling  a  drop  of  liquor  as  the 
chief  of  all  the  cardinal  virtues  ;  but  must  own 
I  am  not  much  given  to  assassination,  murder 
being  inconvenient ;  and  one  thing  I  am  bound 
to  acknowledge,  which  is,  that  I  never  betrayed 
a  messmate." 

"That  's  as  well,"  observed  Morgante  ;  "be- 
cause you  see,  as  you  don't  believe  in  any  thing 
else,  I  'd  have  you  believe  in  this  bell-clapper  of 
mine.  So  now,  as  you  have  been  candid  with 
me,  and  I  am  well  instructed  in  your  ways, 
we  '11  pursue  our  journey  together." 

The  best  of  giants  in  those  days,  were  not 
scrupulous  in  their  modes  of  living  ;  so  that  one 
of  the  best  and  one  of  the  worst  got  on  pretty 
well  together,  emptying  the  larders  on  the  road, 
and  paying  nothing  but  douses  on  the  chops. 
When  they  could  find  no  inn,  they  hunted  ele- 
phants and  crocodiles.  Morgante,  who  was  the 
braver  of  the  two,  delighted  to  banter,  and 
sometimes  to  cheat,  Margutte  ;  and  he  ate  up  all 
the  fare;  which  made  the  other,  notwithstand- 
ing the  credit  he  gave  himself  for  readiness  of 
wit  and  tongue,  cut  a  very  sorry  figure,  and  se- 
riously remonstrate:  "I  reverence  you,"  said 
Margutte,  "in  other  matters  ;  but  in  eating,  you 
really  don't  behave  well.  He  who  deprives  me 
of  my  share   at  meals  is  no   friend  ;  at  every 


Ibumors  ot  (5iant0  209 

mouthful  of  which  he  robs  me,  I  seem  to  lose 
an  eye.  I  'm  for  sharing  every  thing  to  a  nice- 
ty, even  if  it  be  no  better  than  a  fig." 

**You  are  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Morgante ; 
' '  you  gain  upon  me  very  much.  You  are  *  the 
master  of  those  who  know.'  "  * 

So  saying,  he  made  him  put  some  wood  on 
the  fire,  and  perform  a  hundred  other  offices  to 
render  every  thing  snug  ;  and  then  he  slept :  and 
next  day  he  cheated  his  great  scoundrelly  com- 
panion at  drink,  as  he  had  done  the  day  before 
at  meat ;  and  the  poor  shabby  devil  com- 
plained ;  and  Morgante  laughed  till  he  was 
ready  to  burst,  and  again  and  again  always 
cheated  him. 

There  was  a  levity,  nevertheless,  in  Mar- 
gutte,  which  restored  his  spirits  on  the  slight- 
est glimpse  of  good-fortune ;  and  if  he  realized  a 
hearty  meal,  he  became  the  happiest,  beastli- 
est, and  most  confident  of  giants.  The  com- 
panions, in  the  course  of  their  journey,  deliv- 
ered a  damsel  from  the  clutches  of  three  other 
giants.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  great  lord  ; 
and  when  she  got  home,  she  did  honor  to  Mor- 
gante as  to  an  equal,  and  put  Margutte  into  the 
kitchen,  where  he  was  in  a  state  of  bliss.  He 
did  nothing  but    swill,  stuflF,   surfeit,  be  sick, 

*"  II  maestro  di  color  che  sanno."  A  jocose  applica- 
tion of  Dante's  praise  of  Aristotle, 


Xufgl  pulci 


play  at  dice,  cheat,  filch,  go  to  sleep,  guzzle 
again,  laugh,  chatter,  and  tell  a  thousand 
lies. 

Morgante  took  leave  of  the  young  lady,  who 
made  him  rich  presents.  Margutte,  seeing  this, 
and  being  always  drunk  and  impudent,  daubed 
his  face  like  a  Christmas  clown,  and  making  up 
to  her  with  a  frying-pan  in  his  hand,  demanded 
"something  for  the  cook."  The  fair  hostess 
gave  him  a  jewel :  and  the  vagabond  showed 
such  a  brutal  eagerness  in  seizing  it  with  his 
filthy  hands,  and  making  not  the  least  acknowl- 
edgment, that  when  they  got  out  of  the  house, 
Morgante  was  ready  to  fell  him  to  the  earth. 
He  called  him  scoundrel  and  poltroon,  and  said 
he  had  disgraced  him  forever. 

"  Softly  !  "  said  the  brute-beast.  "Did n't  you 
take  me  with  you,  knowing  what  sort  of  fellow 
I  was?  Did  n't  I  tell  you  I  had  every  sin  and 
shame  under  heaven  ;  and  have  I  deceived  you 
by  the  exhibition  of  a  single  virtue  ?  " 

Morgante  could  not  help  laughing  at  a  can- 
dor of  this  excessive  nature.  So  they  went  on 
their  way  till  they  came  to  a  wood,  where  they 
rested  themselves  by  a  fountain,  and  Margutte 
fell  fast  asleep.  He  had  a  pair  of  boots  on, 
which  Morgante  felt  tempted  to  draw  off",  that 
he  might  see  what  he  would  do  on  waking.  He 
accordingly  did  so,  and  threw  them  to  a  little 


Ibumors  of  (Slants  211 

distance  among  the  bushes.  The  sleeper  awoke 
in  good  time,  and,  looking  and  searching  round 
about,  suddenly  burst  into  roars  of  laughter.  A 
monkey  had  got  the  boots,  and  sat  pulling  them 
on  and  off,  making  the  most  ridiculous  ges- 
tures. The  monkey  busied  himself,  and  the 
light-minded  drunkard  laughed ;  and  at  every 
fresh  gesticulation  of  the  new  boot-wearer,  the 
laugh  grew  louder  and  more  tremendous,  till  at 
length  it  was  found  impossible  to  be  restrained. 
The  glutton  had  a  laughing  iEit.  In  vain  he 
tried  to  stop  himself;  in  vain  his  fingers  would 
have  loosened  the  buttons  of  his  doublet,  to 
give  his  lungs  room  to  play.  They  could  n't  do 
it ;  so  he  laughed  and  roared  till  he  burst.  The 
snap  was  like  the  splitting  of  a  cannon.  Mor- 
gante  ran  up  to  him,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  He 
was  dead. 

Alas  !  it  was  not  the  only  death  ;  it  was  not 
even  the  most  trivial  cause  of  a  death.  Giants 
are  big  fellows,  but  Death  's  a  bigger,  though 
he  may  come  in  a  little  shape.  Morgante  had 
succeeded  in  joining  his  master.  He  helped 
him  to  take  Babylon  ;  he  killed  a  whale  for  him 
at  sea  that  obstructed  his  passage  ;  he  played 
the  part  of  a  main-sail  during  a  storm,  holding 
out  his  arms  and  a  great  hide  ;  but  on  coming 
to  shore,  a  crab  bit  him  in  the  heel ;  and  behold 
the    lot    of   the    great   giant — he    died!      He 


Xulgl  pulcl 


laughed,  and  thought  it  a  very  little  thing,  but 
it  proved  a  mighty  one.  "  He  made  the  Bast 
tremble,"  said  Orlando;  "and  the  bite  of  a 
crab  has  slain  him  !  " 

O  life  of  ours,  weak,  and  a  fallacy  !  * 
Orlando  embalmed  his  huge  friend,  and  had 
him  taken  to  Babylon,  and  honorably  interred ; 
and  after  many  an  adventure,  in  which  he  re- 
gretted him,  his  own  days  were  closed  by  a  far 
baser,  though  not  so  petty  a  cause. 

How  shall  I  speak  of  it  ?  exclaims  the  poet. 
How  think  of  the  horrible  slaughter  about  to 
fall  on  the  Christians  and  their  greatest  men,  so 
that  not  a  dry  eye  shall  be  left  in  France  ?  How 
express  my  disgust  at  the  traitor  Gan,  whose 
heart  a  thousand  pardons  from  his  sovereign, 
and  the  most  undeserved  rescues  of  him  by  the 
warrior  he  betrayed,  could  not  shame  or  soften  ? 
How  mourn  the  weakness  of  Charles,  always 
deceived  by  him,  and  always  trusting?  How 
dare  to  present  to  my  mind  the  good,  the  great, 
the  ever-generous  Orlando,  brought  by  the 
traitor  into  the  doleful  pass  of  Roncesvalles  and 
the  hands  of  myriads  of  his  enemies,  so  that 
even  his  superhuman  strength  availed  not  to 
deliver  him  out  of  the  slaughter-house,  and  he 
blew  the  blast  with  his  dying  breath,  which  was 
the  mightiest,  the  farthest  heard,  and  the  most 
*  "  O  vita  nostra,  debole  e  fallace  ! " 


Ibumors  ot  ©iantg  213 

melancholy  sound  that  ever  came  to  the  ears  of 
the  undeceived  ? 

Gan  was  known  well  to  every  body  but  his 
confiding  sovereign.  The  Paladins  knew  him 
well ;  and  in  their  moments  of  indignant  dis- 
gust often  told  him  so,  though  they  spared  him 
the  consequences  of  his  misdeeds,  and  even  in- 
curred the  most  frightful  perils  to  deliver  him 
out  of  the  hands  of  his  enemies.  But  he  was 
brave  ;  he  was  in  favor  with  the  sover- 
eign, who  was  also  their  kinsman;  and 
they  were  loyal  and  loving  men,  and  knew 
that  the  wretch  envied  them  for  the  great- 
ness of  their  achievements,  and  might  do 
the  state  a  mischief ;  so  they  allowed  themselves 
to  take  a  kind  of  scornful  pleasure  in  putting 
up  with  him.  Their  cousin  Malagigi,  the  en- 
chanter, had  himself  assisted  Gan,  though  he 
knew  him  best  of  all,  and  had  prophesied  that 
the  innumerable  endeavors  of  his  envy  to  de- 
stroy his  king  and  country  would  bring  some 
terrible  evil  at  last  to  all  Christendom.  The 
evil,  alas !  is  at  hand.  The  doleful  time  has 
come.  It  will  be  followed,  it  is  true,  by  a  worse 
fate  of  the  wretch  himself;  but  not  till  the  val- 
leys of  the  Pyrenees  have  run  rivers  of  blood, 
and  all  France  is  in  mourning. 


This  is  the 


NOTICE. 


"  sad  and  fearful  story 
Of  the  Roncesvalles  fight  "  ; 

an  event  which  national  and  religious  exaggeration  im- 
pressed deeply  on  the  popular  mind  of  Europe.  Hence 
Italian  romances  and  Spanish  ballads  ;  hence  the  fa- 
mous passage  in  Milton  : 

'  When  Charlemain  with  all  his  peerage  fell 
By  Fontarabbia  ' '  : 

hence  Dante's  record  of  the  dolorosa  roita  (dolorous  rout) 
in  the  "  Inferno,"  where  he  compares  the  voice  of  Nim- 
rod  with  the  horn  sounded  by  the  dying  Orlando  ;  hence 
the  peasant  in  Cervantes,  who  is  met  by  Don  Quixote 
singing  the  battle  as  he  comes  along  the  road  in  the 
morning  ;  and  hence  the  song  of  Roland  actually  thun- 
dered forth  by  the  army  of  William  the  Conqueror  as 
they  advanced  against  the  English. 

But  Charlemagne  did  not  "  fall,"  as  Milton  has  stated. 
Nor  does  Pulci  make  him  do  so.  In  this  respect,  if  in 
little  else,  the  Italian  poet  adhered  to  the  fact.  The 
whole  story  is  a  remarkable  instance  of  what  can  be 
done  by  poetry  and  popularity  towards  misrepresenting 
and  aggrandizing  a  petty  though  striking  adventure. 
The  simple  fact  was  the  cutting  off  the  rear  of  Charle- 
magne's army  by  the  revolted  Gascons,  as  he  returned 


2l6 


Xulgi  ipulcf 


from  a  successful  expedition  into  Spain.  Two  or  three 
only  of  his  nobles  perished,  among  whom  was  his 
nephew  Roland,  the  obscure  warden  of  his  marches  of 
Brittany.  But  Charlemagne  was  the  temporal  head  of 
Christendom ;  the  poets  constituted  his  nephew  its 
champion ;  and  hence  all  the  glories  and  superhuman 
exploits  of  the  Orlando  of  Pulci  and  Ariosto.  The  whole 
assumption  of  the  wickedness  of  the  Saracens,  particu- 
larly of  the  then  Saracen  king  of  Spain,  whom  Pulci's 
authority,  the  pseudo-archbishop,  Turpin,  strangely 
called  Marsilius,  was  nothing  but  a  pious  fraud :  the 
pretended  Marsilius  having  been  no  less  a'person  than 
the  great  and  good  Abdodlrahmaiin  the  First,  who  wrest- 
ed the  dominion  of  that  country  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
usurpers  of  his  family  rights.  Yet  so  potent  and  long- 
lived  are  the  most  extravagant  fictions,  when  genius  has 
put  its  heart  into  them,  that  to  this  day  we  read  of  the 
devoted  Orlando  and  his  friends  not  only  with  gravity, 
but  with  the  liveliest  emotion. 


mm. 


wmm:^ 


THE  BATTLE  OF   RONCESVALLES. 


THB  BATTLE  OF  RONCESVALIvES. 

AMISERABIvB  man  am  I,  cries  the  poet  ; 
for  Orlando,  beyond  a  doubt,  died  in  Ron- 
cesvalles  ;  and  die,  therefore,  he  must  in  my 
verses.  Altogether  impossible  is  it  to  save 
him.  I  thought  to  make  a  pleasant  ending  of 
this  my  poem,  so  that  it  should  be  happier 
somehow,  throughout,  than  melancholy  ;  but 
though  Gan  will  die  at  last,  Orlando  must  die 
before  him,  and  that  makes  a  tragedy  of  all.  I 
had  a  doubt,  whether,  consistently  with  the 
truth,  I  could  give  the  reader  even  that  sorry 
satisfaction  ;  for  at  the  beginning  of  the  dread- 
ful battle,  Orlando's  cousin,  Rinaldo,  who  was 
said  to  have  joined  it  before  it  was  over,  and 
there,  as  well  as  afterwards,  to  have  avenged 
his  death,  was  far  away  from  the  seat  of  slaugh- 
ter, in  Egypt ;  and  how  was  I  to  suppose  that 
he  could  arrive  soon  enough  in  the  valleys  of 
the  Pyrenees  ?  But  an  angel  upon  earth  showed 
me  the  secret,  even  Angelo  Poliziano,  the  glory 
of  his  age  and  country.  He  informed  me  how 
Arnauld,  the  Proven9al   poet,   had  written  of 


220  %\xiQi  ipulci 


this  very  matter,  and  brought  the  Paladin  from 
Egypt  to  France  by  means  of  the  wonderful 
skill  in  occult  science  possessed  by  his  cousin 
Malagigi— a  wonder  to  the  ignorant,  but  not  so 
marvellous  to  those  who  know  that  all  the  crea- 
tion is  full  of  wonders,  and  who  have  different 
modes  of  relating  the  same  events.  By  and  by 
a  great  many  things  will  be  done  in  the  world, 
of  which  we  have  no  conception  now,  and  peo- 
ple will  be  inclined  to  believe  them  works  of 
the  devil,  when,  in  fact,  they  will  be  very  good 
works,  and  contribute  to  angelical  effects, 
whether  the  devil  be  forced  to  have  a  hand  in 
them  or  not ;  for  evil  itself  can  work  only  in 
subordination  to  good.  So  listen  when  the 
astonishment  comes,  and  reflect  and  think  the 
best.  Meantime,  we  must  speak  of  another 
and  more  truly  devilish  astonishment,  and  of 
the  pangs  of  mortal  flesh  and  blood. 

The  traitor  Gan,  for  the  fiftieth  time,  had 
secretly  brought  the  infidels  from  all  quarters 
against  his  friend  and  master,  the  Emperor 
Charles ;  and  Charles,  by  the  help  of  Orlando, 
had  conquered  them  all.  The  worst  of  them, 
Marsilius,  king  of  Spain,  had  agreed  to  pay  the 
court  of  France  tribute ;  and  Gan,  in  spite  of 
all  the  suspicions  he  excited  in  this  particular 
instance,  and  his  known  villainy  at  all  times, 
had  succeeded  in  persuading  his  credulous  sov- 


XLbc  :fiSattle  of  TRoncesvalles       221 

ereign  to  let  him  go  ambassador  into  Spain, 
where  he  put  a  final  seal  to  his  enormities,  by 
plotting  the  destruction  of  his  employer,  and 
the  special  overthrow  of  Orlando.  Charles  was 
now  old  and  white-haired,  and  Gan  was  so  too  ; 
but  the  one  was  only  confirmed  in  his  credulity, 
and  the  other  in  his  crimes.  The  traitor  em- 
braced Orlando  over  and  over  again  at  taking 
leave,  praying  him  to  write  if  he  had  any  thing 
to  say  before  the  arrangements  with  Marsilius, 
and  taking  such  pains  to  seem  loving  and  sin- 
cere, that  his  villany  was  manifest  to  every  one 
but  the  old  monarch.  He  fastened  with  equal 
tenderness  on  Uliviero,  who  smiled  contemptu- 
ously in  his  face,  and  thought  to  himself,  **  You 
may  make  as  many  fair  speeches  as  you  choose, 
but  you  lie."  All  the  other  Paladins  who  were 
present  thought  the  same,  and  they  said  as 
much  to  the  emperor  ;  adding,  that  on  no  ac- 
count should  Gan  be  sent  ambassador  to  Mar- 
silius. But  Charles  was  infatuated.  His  beard 
and  his  credulity  had  grown  old  together. 

Gan  was  received  with  great  honor  in  Spain 
by  Marsilius.  The  king,  attended  by  his  lords, 
came  fifteen  miles  out  of  Saragossa  to  meet  him, 
and  then  conducted  him  into  the  city  amid 
tumults  of  delight.  There  was  nothing  for  sev- 
eral days  but  balls,  and  games,  and  exhibitions 
of  chivalry,  the  ladies  throwing  flowers  on  the 


%uiQi  ipulci 


heads  of  the  French  knights,  and  the  people 
shouting,  "France!  France!  Mountjoy  and 
St.  Denis!" 

Gan  made  a  speech,  "like  a  Demosthenes," 
to  King  Marsilius  in  public  ;  but  he  made  him 
another  in  private,  like  nobody  but  himself. 
The  king  and  he  were  sitting  in  a  garden  ;  they 
were  traitors  both,  and  began  to  understand, 
from  one  another's  looks,  that  the  real  object 
of  the  ambassador  was  yet  to  be  discussed. 
Marsilius  accordingly  assumed  a  more  than 
usually  cheerful  and  confidential  aspect ;  and, 
taking  his  visitor  by  the  hand,  said  :  "  You 
know  the  proverb,  Mr.  Ambassador — '  At  dawn, 
the  mountain  ;  afternoon,  the  fountain.'  Differ- 
ent things  at  different  hours.  So  here  is  a  foun- 
tain to  accommodate  us." 

It  was  a  very  beautiful  fountain,  so  clear  that 
you  saw  your  face  in  it  as  in  a  mirror  ;  and  the 
spot  was  encircled  with  fruit-trees  that  quivered 
with  the  fresh  air.  Gan  praised  it  very  much, 
contriving  to  insinuate,  on  one  subject,  his  sat- 
isfaction with  the  glimpses  he  got  into  another. 
Marsilius  understood  him  ;  and  as  he  resumed 
the  conversation,  and  gradually  encouraged  a 
mutual  disclosure  of  their  thoughts,  Gan,  with- 
out appearing  to  look  him  in  the  face,  was  en- 
abled to  do  so  by  contemplating  the  royal  vis- 
age in  the  water,  where  he  saw  its  expression 


Zbc  :fi8attlc  of  IRoncesvalles       223 

become  more  and  more  what  he  desired.  Mar- 
silius,  meantime,  saw  the  like  symptoms  in  the 
face  of  Gan.  By  degrees,  he  began  to  touch  on 
that  dissatisfaction  with  Charlemagne  and  his 
court,  which  he  knew  was  in  both  their  minds  : 
he  lamented,  not  as  to  the  ambassador,  but  as 
to  the  friend,  the  injuries  which  he  said  he  had 
received  from  Charles  in  the  repeated  attacks 
on  his  dominions,  and  the  emperor's  wish  to 
crown  Orlando  king  of  them  ;  till  at  length  he 
plainly  uttered  his  belief,  that  if  that  tremen- 
dous Paladin  were  but  dead,  good  men  would 
get  their  rights,  and  his  visitor  and  himself  have 
all  things  at  their  disposal. 

Gan  heaved  a  sigh,  as  if  he  was  unwillingly 
compelled  to  allow  the  force  of  what  the  king 
said ;  but,  unable  to  contain  himself  long,  he 
lifted  up  his  face,  radiant  with  triumphant  wick- 
edness, and  exclaimed  :  ' '  Every  word  you  utter 
is  truth.  Die  he  must ;  and  die  also  must  Uli- 
viero,  who  struck  me  that  foul  blow  at  court. 
Is  it  treachery  to  punish  affronts  like  those  ?  I 
have  planned  every  thing  ;  I  have  settled  every 
thing  already  with  their  besotted  master.  Or- 
lando could  not  be  expected  to  be  brought 
hither,  where  he  has  been  accustomed  to  look 
for  a  crown  ;  but  he  will  come  to  the  Spanish 
borders — to  Roncesvalles — for  the  purpose  of 
receiving  the  tribute.     Charles  will  await  him, 


224  %\xiQi  ipulci 


at  no  great  distance,  in  St.  John  Pied  de  Port. 
Orlando  will  bring  but  a  small  band  with  him ; 
you,  when  you  meet  him,  will  have  secretly 
your  whole  army  at  your  back.  You  surround 
him  ;  and  who  receives  tribute  then  ?  " 

The  new  Judas  had  scarcely  uttered  these 
words,  when  the  delight  of  him  and  his  associ- 
ate was  interrupted  by  a  change  in  the  face  of 
nature.  The  sky  was  suddenly  overcast ;  it 
thundered  and  lightened  ;  a  laurel  wa^  split  in 
two  from  head  to  foot ;  the  fountain  ran  into 
burning  blood  ;  there  was  an  earthquake,  and 
the  carob-tree  under  which  Gan  was  sitting,  and 
which  was  of  the  species  on  which  Judas  Iscariot 
hung  himself,  dropped  some  of  its  fruit  on  his 
head.     The  hair  of  the  head  rose  in  horror. 

Marsilius,  as  well  as  Gan,  was  appalled  at  this 
omen  ;  but  on  assembling  his  soothsayers,  they 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  laurel-tree 
turned  the  omen  against  the  emperor,  the  suc- 
cessor of  the  Caesars  ;  though  one  of  them  re- 
newed the  consternation  of  Gan,  bj'  saying  that 
he  did  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the  tree 
of  Judas,  and  intimating  that  perhaps  the  am- 
bassador could  explain  it.  Gan  relieved  his 
consternation  with  anger  ;  the  habit  of  wicked- 
ness prevailed  over  all  considerations  ;  and  the 
king  prepared  to  march  for  Roncesvalles  at  the 
head  of  all  his  forces. 


^be  :fi3attle  ot  IRoncesvallcs       225 

Gan  wrote  to  Charlemagne,  to  say  how  humbly 
and  properly  Marsilius  was  coming  to  pay  the 
tribute  into  the  hands  of  Orlando,  and  how 
handsome  it  would  be  of  the  emperor  to  meet 
him  halfway,  as  agreed  upon,  at  St.  John  Pied 
de  Port,  and  so  be  ready  to  receive  him,  after 
the  payment,  at  his  footstool.  He  added  a  bril- 
liant account  of  the  tribute  and  its  accompany- 
ing presents.  They  included  a  crown  in  the 
shape  of  a  garland  which  had  a  carbuncle  in  it 
that  gave  light  in  darkness  ;  two  lions  of  an 
"  immeasurable  length,  and  aspects  that  fright- 
ened everybody";  some  "lively  buffaloes," 
leopards,  crocodiles,  and  giraffes ;  arms  and 
armor  of  all  sorts  ;  and  apes  and  monkeys  seated 
among  the  rich  merchandise  that  loaded  the 
backs  of  the  camels.  This  imaginary  treasure 
contained,  furthermore,  two  enchanted  spirits, 
called  *'  Floro  and  Faresse,"  who  were  confined 
in  a  mirror,  and  were  to  tell  the  emperor  won- 
derful things,  particularly  Floro  (for  there  is 
nothing  so  nice  in  its  details  as  lying) ;  and  Or- 
lando was  to  have  heaps  of  caravans  full  of 
Eastern  wealth,  and  a  hundred  white  horses,  all 
with  saddles  and  bridles  of  gold.  There  was  a 
beautiful  vest,  too,  for  Uliviero,  all  over  jewels, 
worth  ten  thousand  "serafiS,"  or  more. 

The  good  emperor  wrote  in  turn  to  say  how 
pleased  he  was  with  the  ambassador's  diligence, 


226  XulQi  ipulcf 

and  that  matters  were  arranged  precisely  as  he 
wished.  His  court,  however,  had  its  suspicions 
still.  Nobody  could  believe  that  Gan  had  not 
some  new  mischief  in  contemplation.  Little, 
nevertheless,  did  they  imagine,  after  the  base 
endeavors  he  had  but  lately  made  against  them, 
that  he  had  immediately  plotted  a  new  and 
greater  one,  and  that  his  object  in  bringing 
Charles  into  the  neighborhood  of  Roncesvalles 
was  to  deliver  him  more  speedily  into  the  hands 
of  Marsilius,  in  the  event  of  the  latter's  destruc- 
tion of  Orlando. 

Orlando,  however,  did  as  his  lord  and  sover- 
eign desired.  He  went  to  Roncesvalles,  accom- 
panied by  a  moderate  train  of  warriors,  not 
dreaming  of  the  atrocity  that  awaited  him.  Gan 
himself,  meantime,  had  hastened  on  to  France 
before  Marsilius,  in  order  to  show  himself  free 
and  easy  in  the  presence  of  Charles,  and  secure 
the  success  of  his  plot ;  while  Marsilius,  to  make 
assurance  doubly  sure,  brought  into  the  passes 
of  Roncesvalles  no  less  than  three  armies,  who 
were  successively  to  fall  on  the  Paladin,  in  case 
of  the  worst,  and  so  extinguish  him  with  num- 
bers. He  had  also,  by  Gan's  advice,  brought 
heaps  of  wine  and  good  cheer  to  be  set  before 
his  victims  in  the  first  instance  ;  "  for  that,"  said 
the  traitor,  "will  render  the  onset  the  more 
eflfective,  the  feasters  being  unarmed ;  and,  sup- 


^be  :©attle  of  IRoncesvallcs       227 


posing  prodigies  of  valor  to  await  even  the  at- 
tack of  your  second  army,  you  will  have  no 
trouble  with  your  third.  One  thing,  however, 
I  must  not  forget,"  added  he  ;  *'my  son  Bald- 
win is  sure  to  be  wdth  Orlando  ;  you  must  take 
care  of  his  life  for  my  sake." 

"I  give  him  this  vest  off  my  own  body,"  said 
the  king;  "let  him  wear  it  in  the  battle,  and 
have  no  fear.  My  soldiers  shall  be  directed  not 
to  touch  him." 

Gan  went  away  rejoicing  to  France.  He  em- 
braced the  court  and  his  sovereign  all  round, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  brought  them 
nothing  but  blessings  ;  and  the  old  king  wept 
for  very  tenderness  and  delight. 

"Something  is  going  on  wrong,  and  looks 
very  black,"  thought  Malagigi,  the  good  wiz- 
ard ;  "and  Rinaldo  is  not  here,  and  it  is  indis- 
pensably necessary  that  he  should  be.  I  must 
find  out  where  he  is,  and  Ricciardetto  too,  and 
send  for  them  with  all  speed,  and  at  any  price." 

Malagigi  called  up,  by  his  art,  a  wise,  terrible, 
and  cruel  spirit,  named  Ashtaroth ;  no  light 
personage  to  deal  with — no  little  spirit,  such  as 
plays  tricks  with  you  like  a  fairy.  A  much 
blacker  visitant  was  this. 

"  Tell  me,  and  tell  me  truly  of  Rinaldo,"  said 
Malagigi  to  the  spirit. 

Hard  looked  the  demon  at  the  Paladin,  and 


228  Xuigi  ipulcf 

said  nothing.  His  aspect  was  clouded  and  vio- 
lent. He  wished  to  see  whether  his  summoner 
retained  all  the  force  of  his  art. 

The  enchanter,  with  an  aspect  still  cloudier, 
bade  Ashtaroth  lay  down  that  look.  While 
giving  this  order,  he  also  made  signs  indicative 
of  a  disposition  to  resort  to  angrier  compulsion ; 
and  the  devil,  apprehending  that  he  would  con- 
fine him  in  some  hateful  place,  loosened  his 
tongue,  and  said  :  "  You  have  not  told  me  what 
you  desire  to  know  of  Rinaldo." 

"  I  desire  to  know  what  he  has  been  doing, 
and  where  he  is,"  returned  the  enchanter. 

"He  has  been  conquering  and  baptizing  the 
world,  east  and  west,"  said  the  demon,  "  and  is 
now  in  Egypt  with  Ricciardetto." 

"  And  what  has  Gan  been  plotting  with  Mar- 
silius,"  inquired  Malagigi,  "and  what  is  to 
come  of  it?  " 

"  On  neither  of  those  points  can  I  enlighten 
you,"  said  the  devil.  "I  was  not  attending  to 
Gan  at  the  time,  and  we  fallen  spirits  know  not 
the  future.  Had  we  done  so,  we  had  not  been  so 
willing  to  incur  the  danger  of  falling.  All  I 
discern  is,  that  by  the  signs  and  comets  in  the 
heavens,  something  dreadful  is  about  to  happen 
— something  very  strange,  treacherous,  and 
bloody  ;  and  that  Gan  has  a  seat  ready  prepared 
for  him  in  hell." 


^be  JSattlc  ot  TRonccevalles       229 

"Within  three  days,"  cried  the  enchanter, 
loudly,"  "fetch  Rinaldo  and  Ricciardetto  into 
the  pass  of  Roncesvalles.  Do  it,  and  I  hereby 
undertake  never  to  summon  thee  more." 

"  Suppose  they  will  not  trust  themselves  with 
me,"  said  the  spirit. 

"Enter  Rinaldo's  horse,  and  bring  him, 
whether  he  trust  thee  or  not." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  returned  the  demon; 
"and  my  serving-devil  Foul-Mouth,  or  Fire- 
Red,  shall  enter  the  horse  of  Ricciardetto. 
Doubt  it  not.  Am  I  not  wise,  and  thyself  pow- 
erful ?  " 

There  was  an  earthquake,  and  Ashtaroth  dis- 
appeared. 

Marsilius  has  now  made  his  first  movement 
towards  the  destruction  of  Orlando,  by  sending 
before  him  his  vassal-king  Blanchardin  with  his 
presents  of  wines  and  other  luxuries.  The 
temperate  but  courteous  hero  took  them  in 
good  part,  and  distributed  them  as  the  traitor 
wished  ;  and  then  Blanchardin,  on  pretence  of 
going  forward  to  salute  Charlemagne  at  St.  John 
Pied  de  Port,  returned  and  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  second  army,  which  was  the  post 
assigned  him  by  his  liege  lord.  The  device  on 
his  flag  was  an  "Apollo"  on  a  field  azure. 
King  Falseron,  whose  son  Orlando  had  slain  in 
battle,  headed    the   first  army,  the   device  of 


230  Xulgf  f)ulci 


which  was  a  black  figure  of  the  devil  Belphegor 
on  a  dapple-gray  field.  The  third  army  was 
under  King  Balugante,  and  had  for  ensign  a 
Mahomet  with  golden  wings  in  a  field  of  red. 
Marsilius  made  a  speech  to  them  at  night,  in 
which  he  confessed  his  ill  faith,  but  defended  it 
on  the  ground  of  Charles'  hatred  of  their  re- 
ligion, and  of  the  example  of  "Judith  and 
Holof ernes."  He  said  that  he  had  not  come 
there  to  pay  tribute  and  sell  his  countrymen  for 
slaves,  but  to  make  all  Christendom  pay  tribute 
to  them  as  conquerors  ;  and  he  concluded  by  re- 
commending to  their  good-will  the  son  of  his 
friend  Gan,  whom  they  would  know  by  the  vest 
he  had  sent  him,  and  who  was  the  only  soul 
among  the  Christians  they  were  to  spare. 

This  son  of  Gan,  meantime,  and  several  of 
the  Paladins  who  were  disgusted  with  Charles' 
credulity,  and  anxious  at  all  events  to  be  with 
Orlando,  had  joined  the  hero  in  the  fated  valley ; 
so  that  the  little  Christian  host,  considering  the 
tremendous  valor  of  their  lord  and  his  friends, 
and  the  comparative  inefficiency  of  that  of  the 
infidels,  were  at  any  rate  not  to  be  sold  for 
nothing.  Rinaldo,  alas  !  the  second  thunder- 
bolt of  Christendom,  was  destined  not  to  be 
there  in  time  to  save  their  lives.  He  could  only 
avenge  the  dreadful  tragedy,  and  prevent  still 
worse   consequences    to    the   whole   Christian 


^be  ^Battle  of  IRoncegvalles       231 

court  and  empire.  The  Paladins  had  in  vain 
begged  Orlando  to  be  on  his  guard  against 
treachery,  and  send  for  a  more  numerous  body 
of  men.  The  great  heart  of  the  Champion  of 
the  Faith  was  unwilling  to  think  the  worst  as 
long  as  he  could  help  it.  He  refused  to  sum- 
mon aid  that  might  be  superfluous  ;  neither 
would  he  do  any  thing  but  what  his  liege  lord 
had  desired.  And  yet  he  could  not  wholly  re- 
press a  misgiving.  A  shadow  had  fallen  on  his 
heart,  great  and  cheerful  as  it  was.  The  antici- 
pations of  his  friends  disturbed  him,  in  spite  of 
the  face  with  which  he  met  them.  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  did  not,  by  a  certain  instinctive 
foresight,  expect  death  itself;  but  he  felt  bound 
not  to  encourage  the  impression.  Besides,  time 
pressed  ;  the  moment  of  the  looked-for  tribute 
was  at  hand  ;  and  little  combinations  of  circum- 
stances determine  often  the  greatest  events. 

King  Blanchardin  had  brought  Orlando's 
people  a  luxurious  supper  ;  King  Marsilius  was 
to  arrive  early  next  day  with  the  tribute  ;  and 
Uliviero  accordingly,  with  the  morning  sun, 
rode  forth  to  reconnoitre  and  see  if  he  could 
discover  the  peaceful  pomp  of  the  Spanish 
court  in  the  distance.  Guottibuoffi  was  with 
him,  a  warrior  who  had  expected  the  very 
worst,  and  repeatedly  implored  Orlando  to  be- 
lieve it  possible.     Uliviero  and  he  rode  up  the 


232  XuiQi  ipulci 


mountain  nearest  them,  and  from  the  top  of  it 
beheld  the  first  army  of  Marsilius  already  form- 
ing in  the  passes. 

**0  Guottibuoffi  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "behold 
thy  prophecies  come  true  !  behold  the  last  day 
of  the  glory  of  Charles  !  Everywhere  I  see  the 
arms  of  the  traitors  around  us.  I  feel  Paris 
tremble  all  the  way  through  France,  to  the 
ground  beneath  my  feet.  O  Malagigi,  too 
much  in  the  right  wert  thou !  O  ^devil  Gan, 
this,  then,  is  the  consummation  of  thy  good 
ofi&ces  !  " 

Uliviero  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped 
back  down  the  mountain  to  Orlando. 

*'  Well,"  cried  the  hero,  "  what  news  ?  " 

**  Bad  news,"  said  his  cousin  ;  "  such  as  you 
would  not  hear  of  yesterday.  Marsilius  is  here 
in  arms,  and  all  the  world  has  come  v/ith  him." 

The  Paladins  pressed  round  Orlando,  and  en- 
treated him  to  sound  his  horn,  in  token  that  he 
needed  help.  His  only  answer  was  to  mount 
his  horse,  and  ride  up  the  mountain  with  San- 
sonetto. 

As  soon,  however,  as  he  cast  forth  his  eyes 
and  beheld  what  was  round  about  him,  he 
turned  in  sorrow,  and  looked  down  into  Ron- 
cesvalles,  and  said:  "O  valley,  miserable  in- 
deed !  the  blood  that  is  shed  in  thee  this  day 
will  color  thy  name  forever." 


tibe  :©attlc  of  IRoncesvalles       233 

Many  of  the  Paladins  had  ridden  after  him, 
and  they  again  pressed  him  to  sound  his  horn, 
if  only  in  pity  to  his  own  people.  He  said  :  **  If 
Caesar  and  Alexander  were  here,  Scipio,  and 
Hannibal,  and  Nebuchadnezzar  with  all  his 
flags,  and  Death  stared  me  in  the  face  with  his 
knife  in  his  hand,  never  would  I  sound  my  horn 
for  the  baseness  of  fear. ' ' 

Orlando's  little  camp  were  furious  against  the 
Saracens.  They  armed  themselves  with  the 
greatest  impatience.  There  was  nothing  but 
lacing  of  helmets  and  mounting  of  horses  ;  and 
good  Archbishop  Turpin  went  from  rank  to 
rank,  exhorting  and  encouraging  the  warriors 
of  Christ.  Accoutrements  and  habiliments 
were  put  on  the  wrong  way  ;  words  and  deeds 
mixed  in  confusion  ;  men  running  against  one 
another  out  of  very  absorption  in  themselves  ; 
all  the  place  full  of  cries  of  ' '  Arm  !  arm  !  the 
enemy  !"  and  the  trumpets  clanged  over  all 
against  the  mountain  echoes. 

Orlando  and  his  captains  withdrew  for  a  mo- 
ment to  consultation.  He  fairly  groaned  for 
sorrow,  and  at  first  had  not  a  word  to  say  ;  so 
wretched  he  felt  at  having  brought  his  people 
to  die  in  Roncesvalles. 

Uliviero  spoke  first.  He  could  not  resist 
the  opportunity  of  comforting  himself  a  little  in 
his  despair  with  referring  to  his  unheeded  advice. 


234  %\xiQi  ipulci 


"  You  see,  cousin,"  said  he,  "  what  has  come 
at  last.  Would  to  God  you  had  attended  to 
what  I  said  ;  to  what  Malagigi  said ;  to  what 
we  all  said  !  I  told  you  Marsilius  was  nothing 
but  an  anointed  scoundrel.  Yet  forsooth  he 
was  to  bring  us  tribute  !  and  Charles  is  this  mo- 
ment expecting  his  mummeries  at  St.  John  Pied 
de  Port !  Did  ever  any  body  believe  a  word 
that  Gan  said,  but  Charles  ?  And  now  you  see 
this  rotten  fruit  has  come  to  a  head  ;  this  med- 
lar has  got  its  crown." 

Orlando  said  nothing  in  answer  to  Uliviero  ; 
for  in  truth  he  had  nothing  to  say.  He  broke 
away  to  give  orders  to  the  camp ;  bade  them 
take  refreshment ;  and  then  addressing  both 
ofiBcers  and  men,  he  said  :  "  I  confess  that  if  it 
had  entered  my  heart  to  conceive  the  king  of 
Spain  to  be  such  a  villain,  never  would  you 
have  seen  this  day.  He  has  exchanged  with 
me  a  thousand  courtesies  and  good  words  ;  and 
I  thought  that  the  worse  enemies  we  had  been 
before,  the  better  friends  we  had  become  now. 
I  fancied  every  human  being  capable  of  this 
kind  of  virtue  on  a  good  opportunity,  saving, 
indeed,  such  base-hearted  wretches  as  can  never 
forgive  their  very  forgivers  ;  and  of  these  I  cer- 
tainly did  not  suppose  him  to  be  one.  Let  us 
die,  if  we  must  die,  like  honest  and  gallant 
men  ;  so  that  it  shall  be  said  of  us,  it  was  only 


Zhe  JBattle  ot  IRoncesvalles       235 

our  bodies  that  died.  It  becomes  our  souls  to 
be  invincible,  and  our  glory  immortal.  Our 
motto  must  be,  *  A  good  heart  and  no  hope.' 
The  reason  why  I  did  not  sound  the  horn  was, 
partly  because  I  thought  it  did  not  become  us, 
and  partly  because  our  liege  lord  could  be  of 
little  use,  even  if  he  heard  it.  Let  Gan  have 
his  glut  of  us,  like  a  carrion  crow  ;  but  let  him 
find  us  under  heaps  of  his  Saracens — an  exam- 
ple for  all  time.  Heaven,  my  friends,  is  with  us, 
if  earth  is  against  us.  Methinks  I  see  it  open 
this  moment,  ready  to  receive  our  souls  amidst 
crowns  of  glory  ;  and  therefore,  as  the  cham- 
pion of  God's  church,  1  give  you  my  benedic- 
tion ;  and  the  good  archbishop  here  will  ab- 
solve you ;  and  so,  please  God,  we  shall  all  go 
to  heaven  and  be  happy." 

And  with  these  words  Orlando  sprang  to  his 
horse,  crying,  "Away  against  the  Saracens!" 
but  he  had  no  sooner  turned  his  face  than  he 
wept  bitterly,  and  said,  "  O  holy  Virgin,  think 
not  of  me,  the  sinner  Orlando,  but  have  pity  on 
these  thy  servants." 

Archbishop  Turpin  did  as  Orlando  said,  giv- 
ing the  whole  band  his  benediction  at  once,  and 
absolving  them  from  their  sins,  so  that  every 
body  took  comfort  in  the  thought  of  dying  for 
Christ  ;  and  thus  they  embraced  one  another, 
weeping  ;  and  then  lance  was  put  to  thigh,  and 


236  XuiQi  ipulci 


the  banner  was  raised  that  was  won  in  the  joust- 
ing at  Aspramont. 

And  now  with  a  mighty  dust  and  an  infinite 
sound  of  horns  and  tambours  and  trumpets, 
which  came  filling  the  valley,  the  first  army  of 
the  infidels  made  its  appearance,  horses  neigh- 
ing, and  a  thousand  pennants  flying  in  the 
air.  King  Falseron  led  them  on,  saying  to 
his  ofl&cers:  '*  Now,  gentlemen,  recollect  what  I 
said  ;  the  first  battle  is  for  the  leaders  only  ; 
and  above  all,  let  nobody  dare  to  lay  a  finger  on 
Orlando.  He  belongs  to  myself.  The  revenge 
of  my  son's  death  is  mine.  I  will  cut  the  man 
down  that  comes  between  us." 

"Now,  friends,"  said  Orlando,  "every  man 
for  himself,  and  St.  Michael  for  us  all.  There 
is  no  one  here  that  is  not  a  perfect  knight." 

And  he  might  well  say  it  ;  for  the  flower  of  all 
France  was  there,  except  Rinaldo  and  Ricciar- 
detto  ;  every  man  a  picked  man  ;  all  friends 
and  constant  companions  of  Orlando.  There 
was  Richard  of  Normandy,  GuottibuoflS,  and 
Uliviero,  and  Count  Anselm,  and  Avolio,  and 
Avino,  and  the  gentle  Berlinghieri,  and  his 
brother,  and  Sansonetto,  and  the  good  Duke 
Kgibard,  and  Astolfo  the  Englishman,  and  An- 
giolin  of  Bayona,  and  all  the  other  Paladins  of 
France,  excepting  those  two  whom  I  have  men- 
tioned.    And  so  the  captains  of  the  little  troop 


tibe  JSattte  ot  TRoncesvaltcs       237 

and  of  the  great  array  sat  looking  at  one  an- 
other, and  singling  one  another  out,  as  the  latter 
came  on  ;  and  then  either  side  began  raising 
their  war-cries,  and  the  mob  of  the  infidels 
halted,  and  the  knights  put  spear  in  rest,  and 
ran  for  a  while,  two  and  two  in  succession,  each 
one  against  the  other. 

Astolfo  was  the  first  to  move.  He  ran  against 
Arlotto  of  Soria  ;  and  Angiolin  then  ran  against 
]\Ialducco ;  and  Mazzarigi  the  Renegade  came 
against  Avino  ;  and  Uli\nero  was  borne  forth  by 
his  horse  Rondel,  who  could  n't  stand  still, 
against  Malprimo,  the  first  of  the  captains  of 
Falseron. 

And  now  lances  began  to  be  painted  red, 
without  any  brush  but  themselves  ;  and  the 
new  color  extended  itself  to  the  bucklers,  and 
the  cuishes,  and  the  cuirasses,  and  trappings 
of  the  steeds. 

Astolfo  thrusts  his  antagonist's  body  out  of 
the  saddle,  and  his  soul  into  the  other  world ; 
and  Angiolin  gave  and  took  a  terrible  blow  with 
Malducco  ;  but  his  horse  bore  him  onward  ;  and 
Avino  had  something  of  the  like  encounter  with 
Mazzarigi;  but  Uliviero,  though  he  received 
a  thrust  which  hurt  him,  sent  his  lance  right 
through  the  heart  of  Malprimo. 

Falseron  was  daunted  at  this  blow.  ' '  Verily, ' ' 
thought  he,  "this  is  a  miracle."     Uliviero  did 


238  Xuigi  ipiilct 


not  press  on  among  the  Saracens,  his  wound 
was  too  painful  ;  but  Orlando  now  put  himself 
and  his  whole  band  into  motion,  and  you  may 
guess  what  an  uproar  ensued.  The  sound  of 
the  rattling  of  the  blows  and  helmets  was  as  if 
the  forge  of  Vulcan  had  been  thrown  open, 
Falseron  beheld  Orlando  coming  so  furiously, 
that  he  thought  him  a  Lucifer  who  had  burst 
his  chain,  and  was  quite  of  another  mind  than 
when  he  proposed  to  have  him  all  to  himself. 
On  the  contrary,  he  recommended  himself  to 
his  gods  ;  and  turning  away  begged  for  a  more 
auspicious  season  for  revenge.  But  Orlando 
hailed  and  arrested  him  with  a  terrible  voice, 
saying,  * '  O  thou  traitor !  Was  this  the  end  to 
which  old  quarrels  were  made  up  ?  Dost  thou 
not  blush,  thou  and  thy  fellow-traitor  Marsilius, 
to  have  kissed  me  on  the  cheek  like  a  Judas, 
when  last  thou  wert  in  France  ?  " 

Orlando  had  never  shown  such  anger  in  his 
countenance  as  he  did  that  day.  He  dashed 
at  Falseron  with  a  fury  so  swift,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  mastery  of  his  lance  so  marvellous, 
that  though  he  plunged  it  into  the  man's  body 
so  as  instantly  to  kill  him,  the  body  did  not 
move  in  the  saddle.  The  hero  himself,  as  he 
rushed  onward,  was  fain  to  see  the  end  of  a 
stroke  so  perfect,  and,  turning  his  horse  back, 
he  touched  the  carcass  with  his  sword,  and  it 


^be  ^Battle  of  IRoncesvalles       239 


fell  on  the  instant.  They  say,  that  it  had  no 
sooner  fallen  than  it  disappeared.  People  got 
off  their  horses  to  lift  up  the  body,  for  it  seemed 
to  be  there  still,  the  armor  being  left ;  but 
when  they  came  to  handle  the  armor,  it  was 
found  as  empty  as  the  shell  that  is  cast  by  a 
lobster.  O  new,  and  strange,  and  portentous 
event !  proof  manifest  of  the  anger  with  which 
God  regards  treachery. 

When  the  first  infidel  army  beheld  their  leader 
dead,  such  fear  fell  upon  them,  that  they  were 
for  leaving  the  field  to  the  Paladins  ;  but  they 
were  unable.  Marsilius  had  drawn  the  rest  of 
his  forces  round  the  valley  like  a  net,  so  that 
their  shoulders  were  turned  in  vain.  Orlando 
rode  into  the  thick  of  them,  with  Count  An- 
selm  by  his  side.  He  rushed  like  a  tempest ; 
and  wherever  he  went,  thunderbolts  fell  upon 
helmets.  The  Paladins  drove  here  and  there 
after  them,  each  making  a  whirlwind  round 
about  him  and  a  bloody  circle.  Uliviero  was 
again  in  the  tnelee ;  and  Walter  of  Amulion 
threw  himself  into  it ;  and  Baldwin  roared  like  a 
lion  ;  and  Avino  and  Avolio  reaped  the  wretches' 
heads  like  a  turnip-field  ;  and  blows  blinded 
men's  eyes;  and  Archbishop  Turpin  himself 
had  changed  his  crozier  for  a  lance,  and  chased 
a  new  fl.ock  before  him  to  the  mountains. 

Yet  what  could  be  done  against  foes  without 


240  Xuigf  ipulcf 


number  ?  Multitudes  fill  up  the  spaces  left  by 
the  dead  without  stopping.  Marsilius,  from 
his  anxious  and  raging  post,  constantly  pours 
them  in.  The  Paladins  are  as  units  to  thou- 
sands. Why  tarry  the  horses  of  Rinaldo  and 
Ricciardetto  ? 

The  horses  did  not  tarry  ;  but  fate  had  been 
quicker  than  enchantment.  Ashtaroth,  never- 
theless, had  presented  himself  to  Rinaldo  in 
Egypt,  as  though  he  had  issued  out  of  a  flash 
of  lightning.  After  telling  his  mission,  and 
giving  orders  to  hundreds  of  invisible  spirits 
round  about  him  (for  the  air  was  full  of  them), 
he  and  Foul-Mouth,  his  servant,  entered  the 
horses  of  Rinaldo  and  Ricciardetto,  which  be- 
gan to  neigh  and  snort  and  leap  with  the  fiends 
within  them,  till  off  they  flew  through  the  air 
over  the  pyramids,  crowds  of  spirits  going  like 
a  tempest  before  them.  Ricciardetto  shut  his 
eyes  at  first,  on  perceiving  himself  so  high  in 
the  air ;  but  he  speedily  became  used  to  it, 
though  he  looked  down  on  the  sun  at  last.  In 
this  manner  they  passed  the  desert,  and  the 
sea-coast,  and  the  ocean,  and  swept  the  tops  of 
the  Pyrenees,  Ashtaroth  talking  to  them  of  won- 
ders by  the  way  ;  for  he  was  one  of  the  wisest 
of  the  devils,  and  knew  a  great  many  things 
which  were  then  unknown  to  man.  He  laughed, 
for  instance,  as  they  went  over  sea,  at  the  no- 


^be  :©attle  ot  IRonccsvallee       241 

tion,  among  other  vain  fancies,  that  nothing 
was  to  be  found  beyond  the  pillars  of  Hercules  ; 
"for,"  said  he,  "the  earth  is  round,  and  the 
sea  has  an  even  surface  all  over  ;  and  there  are 
nations  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  who 
walk  with  their  feet  opposed  to  yours,  and  wor- 
ship other  gods  than  the  Christians. ' ' 

"Hah!"  said  Rinaldo  ;  "and  may  I  ask 
whether  they  can  be  saved?  " 

"  It  is  a  bold  thing  to  ask,"  said  the  devil ; 
"  but  do  you  take  the  Redeemer  for  a  partisan, 
and  fancy  He  died  for  you  only  ?  Be  assured  He 
died  for  the  whole  world,  Antipodes  and  all. 
Perhaps  not  one  soul  will  be  left  out  the  pale  of 
salvation  at  last,  but  the  whole  human  race 
adore  the  truth,  and  find  mercy.  The  Christian 
is  the  only  true  religion  ;  but  Heaven  loves  all 
goodness  that  believes  honestly,  whatsoever  the 
belief  may  be." 

Rinaldo  was  mightily  taken  with  the  human- 
ity of  the  devil's  opinions  ;  but  they  were  now 
approaching  the  end  of  their  journey,  and  be- 
gan to  hear  the  noise  of  the  battle  ;  and  he 
could  no  longer  think  of  any  thing  but  the  de- 
light of  being  near  Orlando,  and  plunging  into 
the  middle  of  it. 

"You  shall  be  in  the  very  heart  of  it  in- 
stantly," said  his  bearer.  "I  love  you,  and 
would  fain  do  all  you  desire.     Do  not  fancy 


242  XulQl  ipUlCt 


that  all  nobleness  of  spirit  is  lost  among  us 
people  below.  You  know  what  the  proverb 
says,  *  There  's  never  a  fruit,  however  degener- 
ate, but  will  taste  of  its  stock.'  I  was  of  a  dif- 
ferent order  of  beings  once,  and But  it  is 

well  not  to  talk  of  happy  times.  Yonder  is 
Marsilius ;  and  there  goes  Orlando.  Farewell, 
and  give  me  a  place  in  your  memory." 

Rinaldo  could  not  find  words  to  express  his 
sense  of  the  devil's  good-will,  nor  that  of  Foul- 
Mouth  himself.  He  said:  "Ashtaroth,  I  am 
as  sorry  to  part  with  you  as  if  you  were  a 
brother ;  and  I  certainly  do  believe  that  noble- 
ness of  spirit  exists,  as  you  say,  among  your 
people  below.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  both 
sometimes,  if  you  can  come  ;  and  I  pray  God  (if 
my  poor  prayer  be  worth  any  thing)  that  you 
may  all  repent  and  obtain  His  pardon  ;  for  with- 
out repentance,  you  know,  nothing  can  be  done 
for  you." 

"  If  I  might  suggest  a  favor,"  returned  Ashta- 
roth,  "since  you  are  so  good  as  to  wish  to  do 
me  one,  persuade  Malagigi  to  free  me  from  his 
service,  and  I  am  yours  for  ever.  To  serve  you 
will  be  a  pleasure  to  me.  You  will  only  have 
to  say,  'Ashtaroth,'  and  my  good  friend  here 
will  be  with  you  in  an  instant." 

"I  am  obliged  to  you,"  cried  Rinaldo,  "and 
so  is  my  brother.     I  will  write  Malagigi,  not 


Jibe  JBattle  of  IRoncesvalles       243 

merely  a  letter,  but  a  whole  packetful  of  your 
praises ;  and  so  I  will  to  Orlando ;  and  you  shall 
be  set  free,  depend  on  it,  your  company  has 
been  so  perfectly  agreeable." 

**  Your  humble  servant,"  said  Ashtaroth,  and 
vanished  with  his  companion  like  lightning. 

But  they  did  not  go  far. 

There  was  a  little  chapel  by  the  roadside  in 
Roncesvalles,  which  had  a  couple  of  bells  ;  and 
on  the  top  of  that  chapel  did  the  devils  place 
themselves,  in  order  that  they  might  catch  the 
souls  of  infidels  as  they  died,  and  so  carry  them 
oflF  to  the  infernal  regions.  Guess  if  their 
wings  had  plenty  to  do  that  day  !  Guess  if 
Minos  and  Rhadamanthus  were  busy,  and 
Charon  sung  in  his  boat,  and  Lucifer  hugged 
himself  for  joy.  Guess,  also,  if  the  tables  in 
heaven  groaned  with  nectar  and  ambrosia,  and 
good  old  St.  Peter  had  a  dry  hair  in  his  beard. 

The  two  Paladins,  on  their  horses,  dropped 
right  into  the  middle  of  the  Saracens,  and  be- 
gan making  such  havoc  about  them,  that  Mar- 
silius,  who  overlooked  the  fight  from  a  moun- 
tain, thought  his  soldiers  had  turned  one  against 
the  other.  He  therefore  descended  in  fury  with 
his  third  army  ;  and  Rinaldo,  seeing  him  com- 
ing, said  to  Ricciardetto,  "We  had  better  be  oflF 
here,  and  join  Orlando  "  ;  and  with  these  words, 
he  gave  his  horse  one  turn  round  before  he  re- 


244  Xuigf  pulci 


treated,  so  as  to  enable  his  sword  to  make  a 
bloody  circle  about  him ;  and  stories  say,  that 
he  sheared  off  twenty  heads  in  the  twirl  of  it. 
He  then  dashed  through  the  astonished  behold- 
ers towards  the  battleof  Orlando,  who  guessed 
it  could  be  no  other  than  his  cousin,  and  almost 
dropped  from  his  horse,  out  of  desire  to  meet 
him.  Ricciardetto  followed  Rinaldo  ;  and 
Uliviero  coming  up  at  the  same  moment,  the 
rapture  of  the  whole  party  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed. They  almost  died  for  joy.  After  a 
thousand  embraces,  and  questions,  and  explana- 
tions, and  expressions  of  astonishment  (for  the 
infidels  held  aloof  awhile,  to  take  breath  from 
the  horror  and  mischief  they  had  undergone), 
Orlando  refreshed  his  little  band  of  heroes,  and 
then  drew  Rinaldo  apart,  and  said:  **  O  my 
brother,  I  feel  such  delight  at  seeing  you,  I  can 
hardly  persuade  myself  I  am  not  dreaming. 
Heaven  be  praised  for  it.  I  have  no  other  wish 
on  earth,  now  that  I  see  you  before  I  die.  Why 
did  n't  you  write  ?  But  never  mind.  Here  you 
are,  and  I  shall  not  die  for  nothing." 

"I  did  write,"  said  Rinaldo,  "and  so  did 
Ricciardetto ;  but  villainy  intercepted  our  let- 
ters. Tell  me  what  to  do,  my  dear  cousin  ;  for 
time  presses,  and  all  the  world  is  upon  us." 

**  Gan  has  brought  us  here,"  said  Orlando, 
**  under  pretence  of  receiving  tribute  from  Mar- 


Zbc  JBattle  of  IRonccsvallcs       245 

silius — you  see  of  what  sort ;  and  Charles,  poor 
old  man,  is  waiting  to  receive  his  homage  at  the 
town  of  St.  John  !  I  have  never  seen  a  lucky- 
day  since  you  left  us,  I  believe  I  have  done  for 
Charles  more  than  in  duty  bound,  and  that  my 
sins  pursue  me,  and  I  and  mine  must  all  perish 
in  Roncesvalles." 

**  Look  to  Marsilius,"  exclaimed  Rinaldo  ; 
"he  is  right  upon  us." 

Marsilius  was  upon  them,  surely  enough,  at 
once  furious  and  frightened  at  the  coming  of 
the  new  Paladins  ;  for  his  camp,  numerous  as 
it  was,  had  not  only  held  aloof,  but  turned 
about  to  fly  like  herds  before  the  lion  ;  so  he 
was  forced  to  drive  them  back,  and  bring  up 
his  other  troops,  reasonably  thinking  that  such 
numbers  must  overwhelm  at  last,  if  they  could 
but  be  kept  together. 

Not  the  less,  however,  for  this,  did  the  Pala- 
dins continue  to  fight  as  if  with  joy.  They  killed 
and  trampled  wheresoever  they  went  ;  Rinaldo 
fatiguing  himself  with  sending  infinite  numbers 
of  souls  to  Ashtaroth,  and  Orlando  making  a 
bloody  passage  towards  Marsilius,  whom  he 
hoped  to  settle  as  he  had  done  Falseron. 

In  the  course  of  this  his  tremendous  progress, 
the  hero  struck  a  youth  on  the  head,  whose 
helmet  was  so  good  as  to  resist  the  blow,  but  at 
the  same  time  flew  off :  and  Orlando  seized  him 


246  TLiWQi  ipulci 


by  the  hair  to  kill  him.  "  Hold  !  "  cried  the 
youth,  as  loud  as  want  of  breath  could  let  him  ; 
"  you  loved  my  father — I  'm  Bujaforte." 

The  Paladin  had  never  seen  Bujaforte  ;  but 
he  saw  the  likeness  to  the  good  old  Man  of  the 
Mountain,  his  father  ;  and  he  let  go  the  youth's 
hair,  and  embraced  and  kissed  him.  "  O  Buja- 
forte !  "  said  he  ;  "  I  loved  him  indeed — my  good 
old  man  ;  but  what  does  his  son  do  here,  fight- 
ing against  his  friend  ?  " 

Bujaforte  was  a  long  time  before  he  could 
speak  for  weeping.  At  length  he  said  :  "Or- 
lando, let  not  your  noble  heart  be  pained  with 
ill  thoughts  of  my  father's  son.  I  am  forced  to 
be  here  by  my  lord  and  master  Marsilius.  I  had 
no  friend  left  me  in  the  world,  and  he  took  me 
into  his  court,  and  has  brought  me  here  before 
I  knew  what  it  was  for ;  and  I  have  made  a  show 
of  fighting,  but  have  not  hurt  a  single  Christian. 
Treachery  is  on  every  side  of  you.  Baldwin 
himself  has  a  vest  given  him  by  Marsilius,  that 
every  body  may  know  the  son  of  his  friend 
Gan,  and  do  him  no  injury.  See  there — look 
how  the  lances  avoid  him." 

"  Put  your  helmet  on  again,"  said  Orlando, 
"  and  behave  just  as  you  have  done.  Never  will 
your  father's  friend  be  an  enemy  to  the  son. 
Only  take  care  not  to  come  across  Rinaldo." 

The  hero  then  turned  in   fury    to  look   for 


XLbc  JSattle  of  IRonceevalles       247 

Baldwin,  who  was  hastening  towards  him  at 
that  moment  with  friendliness  in  his  looks. 

*"T  is  strange,"  said  Baldwin  ;  "  I  have  done 
my  duty  as  well  as  I  could,  yet  nobody  will 
come  against  me.  I  have  slain  right  and  left, 
and  cannot  comprehend  what  it  is  that  makes 
the  stoutest  infidels  avoid  me." 

"Take  off  your  vest,"  cried  Orlando,  con- 
temptuously, "  and  you  will  soon  discover  the 
secret,  if  you  wish  to  know  it.  Your  father  has 
sold  us  to  Marsilius,  all  but  his  honorable  son." 

"  If  my  father, "  cried  Baldwin,  impetuously 
tearing  off  the  vest,  "has  been  such  a  villain, 
and  I  escape  dying  any  longer,  by  God  !  I  will 
plunge  this  sword  through  his  heart.  But  I  am 
no  traitor,  Orlando  ;  and  you  do  me  wrong  to 
say  it.  You  do  me  foul  dishonor,  and  I  '11  not 
survive  it.  Never  more  shall  you  behold  me 
alive." 

Baldwin  spurred  off  into  the  fight,  not  waiting 
to  hear  another  word  from  Orlando,  but  con- 
stantly crying  out,  **  You  have  done  me  dis- 
honor" ;  and  Orlando  was  very  sorry  for  what 
he  had  said,  for  he  perceived  that  the  youth  was 
in  despair. 

And  now  the  fight  raged  beyond  all  it  had 
done  before  ;  and  the  Paladins  themselves  be- 
gan to  fall,  the  enemy  were  driven  forward  in 
such  multitudes  by  Marsilius.      There  was  un- 


248  XuiGi  Ipulcf 


horsing  of  foes,  and  reseating  of  friends,  and 
great  cries,  and  anguish,  and  unceasing  labor ; 
and  twenty  Pagans  went  down  for  one  Chris- 
tian ;  but  still  the  Christians  fell.  One  Paladin 
disappeared  after  another,  having  too  much  to 
do  for  mortal  men.  Some  could  not  make  way 
through  the  press  for  very  fatigue  of  killing, 
and  others  were  hampered  with  the  falling 
horses  and  men.  Sansonetto  was  thus  beaten 
to  earth  by  the  club  of  Grandonio  ;  and  Walter 
d'Amulion  had  his  shoulders  broken  ;  and  An- 
giolin  of  Bayona,  having  lost  his  lance,  was 
thrust  down  by  Marsilius,  and  Angiolin  of  Bel- 
londa  by  Sirionne  ;  and  Berlinghieri  and  Ottone 
are  gone  ;  and  then  Astolfo  went,  in  revenge  of 
whose  death  Orlando  turned  the  spot  on  which 
he  died  into  a  gulf  of  Saracen  blood.  Rinaldo 
met  the  luckless  Bujaforte,  who  had  just  begun 
to  explain  how  he  seemed  to  be  fighting  on  the 
side  which  his  father  hated,  when  the  impatient 
hero  exclaimed,  "  He  who  is  not  with  me  is 
against  me"  ;  and  gave  him  a  volley  of  such 
horrible  cuffs  about  the  head  and  ears,  that  Bu- 
jaforte died  without  being  able  to  speak  another 
word.  Orlando,  cutting  his  way  to  a  spot  in 
which  there  was  a  great  struggle  and  uproar, 
found  the  poor  youth  Baldwin,  the  son  of  Gan, 
with  two  spears  in  his  breast.  "  I  am  no  traitor 
now,"  said  Baldwin  ;  and  so  saying,  fell  dead  to 


^be  :©attle  of  IRoncesvalles       249 

the  earth  ;  and  Orlando  lifted  up  his  voice  and 
wept,  for  he  was  bitterly  sorry  to  have  been  the 
cause  of  his  death.  He  then  joined  Rinaldo  in 
the  hottest  of  the  tumult ;  and  all  the  surviving 
Paladins  gathered  about  them,  including  Tur- 
pin  the  archbishop,  who  fought  as  hardily  as  the 
rest ;  and  the  slaughter  was  lavish  and  horrible, 
so  that  the  eddies  of  the  wind  chucked  the  blood 
into  the  air,  and  earth  appeared  a  very  seething 
cauldron  of  hell.  At  length  down  went  Uliviero 
himself.  He  had  become  blind  with  his  own 
blood,  and  smitten  Orlando  without  knowing 
him,  who  had  never  received  such  a  blow  in  his 
life. 

"  How  now,  cousin  !  "  cried  Orlando ;  "have 
you  too  gone  over  to  the  enemy  ?  " 

"  O  my  lord  and  master,  Orlando,"  cried  the 
other,  *'  I  ask  your  pardon,  if  I  have  struck  you. 
I  can  see  nothing — I  am  dying.  The  traitor 
Arcaliffe  has  stabbed  me  in  the  back  ;  but  I 
killed  him  for  it.  If  you  love  me,  lead  my  horse 
into  the  thick  of  them,  so  that  I  may  not  die 
unavenged." 

**  I  shall  die  myself  before  long,"  said  Or- 
lando, **out  of  very  toil  and  grief;  so  we  will 
go  together.  I  have  lost  all  hope,  all  pride,  all 
wish  to  live  any  longer :  but  not  my  love  for 
Uliviero.  Come — let  us  give  them  a  few  blows 
yet ;  let  them  see  what  you  can  do  with  your 


250  XulQl  Ipulci 


dying  hands.  One  faith,  one  death,  one  only 
wish  be  ours. ' ' 

Orlando  led  his  cousin's  horse  where  the  press 
was  thickest,  and  dreadful  was  the  strength  of 
the  dying  man  and  of  his  half-dying  compan- 
ion. They  made  a  street,  through  which  they 
passed  out  of  the  battle  ;  and  Orlando  led  his 
cousin  away  to  his  tent,  and  said  :  "  Wait  a  lit- 
tle till  I  return,  for  I  will  go  and  sound  the 
horn  on  the  hill  yonder." 

" 'T  is  of  no  use,"  said  Uliviero ;  "and  my 
spirit  is  fast  going,  and  desires  to  be  with  its 
Lord  and  Saviour."  He  would  have  said  more, 
but  his  words  came  from  him  imperfectly,  like 
those  of  a  man  in  a  dream  ;  only  his  cousin 
gathered  that  he  meant  to  commend  to  him  his 
sister,  Orlando's  wife,  Alda  the  Fair,  of  whom 
indeed  the  great  Paladin  had  not  thought  so 
much  in  this  world  as  he  might  have  done. 
And  with  these  imperfect  words  he  expired. 

But  Orlando  no  sooner  saw  him  dead  than  he 
felt  as  if  he  was  left  alone  on  the  earth  ;  and  he 
was  quite  willing  to  leave  it ;  only  he  wished 
that  Charles  at  St.  John  Pied  de  Port  should 
hear  how  the  case  stood  before  he  went ;  and 
so  he  took  up  the  horn,  and  blew  it  three  times 
with  such  force  that  the  blood  burst  out  of  his 
nose  and  mouth.  Turpin  says  that  at  the  third 
blast  the  horn  broke  in  two. 


^be  :JSattle  of  IRoncesvalles       251 

In  spite  of  all  the  noise  of  the  battle  the 
sound  of  the  horn  broke  over  it  like  a  voice 
out  of  the  other  world.  They  say  that  birds 
fell  dead  at  it,  and  that  the  whole  Saracen  army 
drew  back  in  terror.  But  fearfuller  still  was  its 
effect  at  St.  John  Pied  de  Port.  Charlemagne 
was  sitting  in  the  midst  of  his  court  when  the 
sound  reached  him  ;  and  Gan  was  there.  The 
emperor  was  the  first  to  hear  it. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  ?  "  said  he  to  his  nobles. 
"  Did  you  hear  the  horn  as  I  heard  it  ?  " 

Upon  this  they  all  listened  ;  and  Gan  felt  his 
heart  misgive  him. 

The  horn  sounded  the  second  time. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  said  Charles. 

"Orlando  is  hunting,"  observed  Gan,  "and 
the  stag  is  killed.  He  is  at  the  old  pastime 
that  he  was  so  fond  of  in  Aspramonte." 

But  when  the  horn  sounded  yet  a  third  time, 
and  the  blast  was  one  of  so  dreadful  a  vehe- 
mence, everybody  looked  at  the  other,  and 
then  they  all  looked  at  Gan  in  fury.  Charles 
rose  from  his  seat.  "  This  is  no  hunting  of  the 
stag,"  said  he.  "The  sound  goes  to  my  very 
heart,  and,  I  confess,  makes  me  tremble.  I  am 
awakened  out  of  a  great  dream.  O  Gan  !  O 
Gan  !  Not  for  thee  do  I  blush,  but  for  myself, 
and  for  nobody  else.  O  my  God,  what  is  to  be 
done  !     But  whatever   is  to   be  done   must  be 


252  iLuiQi  pulci 


done  quickly.  Take  this  villain,  gentlemen, 
and  keep  him  in  hard  prison,  O  foul  and  mon- 
strous villain  !  Would  to  God  I  had  not  lived 
to  see  this  day  !  O  obstinate  and  enormous 
folly  !  O  Malagigi,  had  I  but  believed  thy  fore- 
sight !  'T  is  thou  wert  the  wise  man,  and  I  the 
gray-headed  fool. " 

Ogier  the  Dane,  and  Namo  and  others,  in 
the  bitterness  of  their  grief  and  anger,  could 
not  help  reminding  the  emperor  of- all  which 
they  had  foretold.  But  it  was  no  time  for 
words.  They  put  the  traitor  into  prison  ;  and 
then  Charles,  with  all  his  court,  took  his  way 
to  Roncesvalles,  grieving  and  praying. 

It  was  afternoon  when  the  horn  sounded,  and 
half  an  hour  after  it  when  the  emperor  set  out ; 
and  meantime  Orlando  had  returned  to  the 
fight  that  he  might  do  his  duty,  however  hope- 
less, as  long  as  he  could  sit  his  horse,  and  the 
Paladins  were  now  reduced  to  four  ;  and  though 
the  Saracens  suffered  themselves  to  be  mowed 
down  like  grass  by  them  and  their  little  band, 
he  found  his  end  approaching  for  toil  and  fever, 
and  so  at  length  he  withdrew  out  of  the  fight, 
and  rode  all  alone  to  a  fountain  which  he 
knew  of,  where  he  had  before  quenched  his 
thirst. 

His  horse  was  wearier  still  than  he,  and  no 
sooner  had  its  master  alighted,  than  the  beast, 


^be  :©attle  of  IRoncesvalles       253 


kneeling  down  as  if  to  take  leave,  and  to  say, 
**  I  have  brought  you  to  your  place  of  rest,"  fell 
dead  at  his  feet.  Orlando  cast  water  on  him 
from  the  fountain,  not  wishing  to  believe  him 
dead ;  but  when  he  found  it  to  no  purpose  he 
grieved  for  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  human 
being,  and  addressed  him  by  name  in  tears,  and 
asked  forgiveness  if  ever  he  had  done  him 
wrong.  They  say  that  the  horse,  at  these 
words,  once  more  opened  his  eyes  a  little,  and 
looked  kindly  at  his  master,  and  so  stirred 
never  more. 

They  say  also  that  Orlando  then,  summoning 
all  his  strength,  smote  a  rock  near  him  with  his 
beautiful  sword  Durlindana,  thinking  to  shiver 
the  steel  in  pieces,  and  so  prevent  its  falling 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  ;  but  though  the 
rock  split  like  a  slate,  and  a  deep  fissure  re- 
mained ever  after  to  astonish  the  eyes  of  pil- 
grims, the  sword  remained  unhurt. 

"  O  strong  Durlindana,"  cried  he,  **  O  noble 
and  worthy  sword,  had  I  known  thee  from  the 
first  as  I  know  thee  now,  never  would  I  have 
been  brought  to  this  pass. ' ' 

And  now  Rinaldo  and  Ricciardetto  and  Tur- 
pin  came  up,  having  given  chase  to  the  Sara- 
cens till  they  were  weary,  and  Orlando  gave 
joyful  welcome  to  his  cousin,  and  they  told  him 
how  the  battle  was  won,  and  then  Orlando  knelt 


254  %uiQi  ipulci 


before  Turpin,  his  face  all  iu  tears,  and  begged 
remission  of  his  sins,  and  confessed  them,  and 
Turpin  gave  him  absolution  ;  and  suddenly  a 
light  came  down  upon  him  from  heaven  like  a 
rainbow,  accompanied  with  a  sound  of  music, 
and  an  angel  stood  in  the  air  blessing  him,  and 
then  disappeared  ;  upon  which  Orlando  fixed 
his  eyes  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword  as  on  a  cruci- 
fix, and  embraced  it  and  said:  "  Ivord,  vouch- 
safe that  I  may  look  on  this  poor  instrument  as 
on  the  symbol  of  the  tree  upon  which  Thou 
sufferedst  Thy  unspeakable  martyrdom  !  "  and 
so  adjusting  the  sword  to  his  bosom,  and 
embracing  it  closer,  he  raised  his  eyes,  and 
appeared  like  a  creature  seraphical  and  trans- 
figured ;  and  in  bowing  his  head  he  breathed 
out  his  pure  soul.  A  thunder  was  then  heard 
in  the  heavens,  and  the  heavens  opened  and 
seemed  to  stoop  to  the  earth,  and  a  flock  of 
angels  was  seen  like  a  white  cloud  ascending 
with  his  spirit,  who  were  known  to  be  what 
they  were  by  the  trembling  of  their  wings. 
The  white  cloud  shot  out  golden  fires,  so  that 
the  whole  air  was  full  of  them  ;  and  the  voices 
of  the  angels  mingled  in  song  with  the  instru- 
ments of  their  brethren  above,  which  made  an 
inexpressible  harmony,  at  once  deep  and  dulcet. 
The  priestly  warrior  Turpin,  and  the  two  Pala- 
dins, and  the  hero's  squire  Terigi,  who  were  all 


Zbc  :fi3attle  of  IRoncesvaUea       255 

on  their  knees,  forgot  their  own  beings,  in  fol- 
lowing the  miracle  with  their  eyes. 

It  was  now  the  oflSce  of  that  squire  to  take 
horse  and  ride  off  to  the  emperor  at  St.  John 
Pied  de  Port,  and  tell  him  of  all  that  had  oc- 
curred ;  but  in  spite  of  what  he  had  just  seen, 
he  lay  for  a  time  overwhelmed  with  grief.  He 
then  rose,  and  ^nounted  his  steed,  and  left  the 
Paladins  and  the  archbishop  with  the  dead 
body,  who  knelt  about  it,  guarding  it  with  a 
weeping  love. 

The  good  squire  Terigi  met  the  emperor  and 
his  cavalcade  coming  towards  Roncesvalles,  and 
alighted  and  fell  on  his  knees,  telling  him  the 
miserable  news,  and  how  all  his  people  were 
slain  but  two  of  his  Paladins,  and  himself,  and 
the  good  archbishop.  Charles  for  anguish  be- 
gan tearing  his  white  locks  ;  but  Terigi  com- 
forted him  against  so  doing,  by  giving  an 
account  of  the  manner  of  Orlando's  death,  and 
how  he  had  surely  gone  to  heaven.  Neverthe- 
less, the  squire  himself  was  broken-hearted 
with  grief  and  toil  ;  and  he  had  scarcely  added 
a  denouncement  of  the  traitor  Gau,  and  a  hope 
that  the  emperor  would  appease  Heaven  finally 
by  giving  his  body  to  the  winds,  than  he  said  : 
"The  cold  of  death  is  upon  me  "  ;  and  so  he 
fell  dead  at  the  emperor's  feet. 

Charles  was  ready  to  drop  from  his  saddle  for 


£56  Xuigf  ipUlCf 


wretchedness.  He  cried  out  :  '•  Let  nobody 
comfort  me  more.  I  will  have  no  comfort. 
Cursed  be  Gan,  and  cursed  this  horrible  day, 
and  this  place,  and  every  thing.  Let  us  go  on, 
like  blind  miserable  men  that  we  are,  into 
Roncesvalles  ;  and  have  patience  if  we  can,  out 
of  pure  misery,  like  Job,  till  we  do  all  that  can 
be  done." 

So  Charles  rode  on  with  his  nobles  ;  and  they 
say  that  for  the  sake  of  the  champion. of  Chris- 
tendom and  the  martyrs  that  died  with  him,  the 
sun  stood  still  in  the  sky  till  the  emperor  had 
seen  Orlando,  and  till  the  dead  were  buried. 

Horrible  to  his  eyes  was  the  sight  of  the  field 
of  Roncesvalles.  The  Saracens,  indeed,  had 
forsaken  it,  conquered  ;  but  all  his  Paladins  but 
two  were  left  on  it  dead  ;  and  the  slaughtered 
heaps  among  which  they  lay  made  the  whole 
valley  like  a  great  dumb  slaughter-house,  tram- 
pled up  into  blood  and  dirt,  and  reeking  to  the 
heat.  The  very  trees  were  dropping  with 
blood  ;  and  every  thing,  so  to  speak,  seemed 
tired  out,  and  gone  to  a  horrible  sleep. 

Charles  trembled  to  his  heart's  core  for 
wonder  and  agony.  After  dumbly  gazing  on  the 
place,  he  again  cursed  it  with  a  solemn  curse, 
and  wished  that  never  grass  might  grow  within 
it  again,  nor  seed  of  any  kind,  neither  within  it 
nor  on  any  of  its  mountains  around  with  their 


^bc  JSattle  of  IRonceevallee       257 

proud  shoulders  ;  but  the  anger  of  Heaven  abide 
over  it  forever,  as  on  a  pit  made  by  hell  upon 
earth. 

Then  he  rode  on,  and  came  up  to  where  the 
body  of  Orlando  awaited  him  with  the  Paladins, 
and  the  old  man,  weeping,  threw  himself  as  if 
he  had  been  a  reckless  youth  from  his  horse, 
and  embraced  and  kissed  the  dead  body,  and 
said:  "I  bless  thee,  Orlando.  I  bless  thy 
whole  life,  and  all  that  thou  wast;  and  all  that 
thou  ever  didst,  and  thy  mighty  and  holy  valor, 
and  the  father  that  begot  thee  ;  and  I  ask  par- 
don of  thee  for  believing  those  who  brought 
thee  to  thine  end.  They  shall  have  their  re- 
ward, O  thou  beloved  one  !  But,  indeed,  it  is 
thou  that  livest,  and  I  that  am  worse  than 
dead." 

And  now,  behold  a  wonder.  For  the  em- 
peror, in  the  fervor  of  his  heart  and  of  the  mem- 
ory of  what  had  passed  between  them,  called  to 
mind  that  Orlando  had  promised  to  give  him 
his  sword,  should  he  die  before  him  ;  and  he 
lifted  up  his  voice  more  bravely,  and  adjured 
him  even  now  to  return  it  to  him  gladly  ;  and 
it  pleased  God  that  the  dead  body  of  Orlando 
should  rise  on  its  feet,  and  kneel  as  he  was  wont 
to  do  at  the  feet  of  his  liege  lord,  and  gladly, 
and  with  a  smile  on  its  face,  return  the  sword  to 
the  EJmperor  Charles.      As  Orlando  rose,  the 


258  %ixiQi  ipulct 


Paladins  and  Turpin  knelt  down  out  of  fear 
and  horror,  especially  seeing  him  look  with  a 
stern  countenance  ;  but  when  they  saw  that  he 
knelt  also,  and  smiled,  and  returned  the  sword, 
their  hearts  became  reassured,  and  Charles 
took  the  sword  like  his  liege  lord,  though  trem- 
bling with  wonder  and  affection  :  and  in  truth 
he  could  hardly  clench  his  fingers  around  it. 

Orlando  was  buried  in  a  great  sepulchre  in 
Aquisgrana,  and  the  dead  Paladins  were  all  em- 
balmed and  sent  with  majestic  cavalcades  to 
their  respective  counties  and  principalities,  and 
every  Christian  was  honorably  and  reverently 
put  in  the  earth,  and  recorded  among  the  mar- 
tyrs of  the  Church. 

But  meantime  the  flying  Saracens,  thinking 
to  bury  their  own  dead,  and  ignorant  of  what 
still  awaited  them,  came  back  into  the  valley, 
and  Rinaldo  beheld  them  with  a  dreadful  joy, 
and  showed  them  to  Charles.  Now  the  em- 
peror's cavalcade  had  increased  at  every  mo- 
ment ;  and  they  fell  upon  the  Saracens  with  a 
new  and  unexpected  battle,  and  the  old  em- 
peror, addressing  the  sword  of  Orlando,  ex- 
claimed :  "My  strength  is  little,  but  do  thou 
do  thy  duty  to  thy  master,  thou  famous  sword, 
seeing  that  he  returned  it  to  me  smiling,  and 
that  his  revenge  is  in  my  hands."  And  so  say- 
ing, he  met  Baliigante,  the  leader  of  the  infidels, 


XLbc  :ffiattlc  of  IRonccsvallas       25^ 

as  lie  came  borne  along  by  his  frightened  horse ; 
and  the  old  man,  raising  the  sword  with  both 
hands,  cleaved  him,  with  a  delighted  mind,  to 
the  chin. 

O  sacred  Emperor  Charles  !  O  well-lived  old 
man  !  Defender  of  the  Faith  !  light  and  glory 
of  the  old  time  !  thou  hast  cut  oif  the  other  ear 
of  Malchus,  and  shown  how  rightly  thou  wert 
bom  into  the  world,  to  save  it  a  second  time 
from  the  abyss. 

Again  fled  the  Saracens,  never  to  come  to 
Christendom  more  :  but  Charles  went  after 
them  into  Spain,  he  and  Rinaldo  and  Ricciar- 
detto  and  the  good  Turpin  ;  and  they  took  and 
fired  Saragossa ;  and  Marsilius  was  hung  to  the 
carob-tree  under  which  he  had  planned  his  vil- 
lainy with  Gan  ;  and  Gan  was  hung,  and  drawn 
and  quartered,  in  Roncesvalles,  amidst  the 
execrations  of  the  country. 

And  if  you  ask,  how  it  happened  that  Charles 
ever  put  faith  in  such  a  wretch,  I  shall  tell  you 
that  it  was  because  the  good  old  emperor,  with 
all  his  faults,  was  a  divine  man,  and  believed  in 
others  out  of  the  excellence  of  his  own  heart 
and  truth.  And  such  was  the  case  with  Orlando 
himself. 

the;  end 


12  084214144 


fett*t*t3iS 


